1
Artas and Ganry rode horseback to Fort Wallbour. Overnight they would stop out in the open air and camp on the edges of the forest. This part of the kingdom was at peace at the moment, totally unaware that a war may break out on the borders.
The first night was comfortable enough. A cooking fire by the side of a small stream provided all their needs. Artas caught a rabbit with his bow, and while it cooked on the spit over the fire, Ganry began Artas’s training.
The young nobleman was already an expert with a bow, but he needed to strengthen his sword skills to be a better all round warrior. They sparred together for a few hours, with Ganry trying to hone Artas’s sword craft. Balance was crucial in sword fighting, and here Artas had a distinct disadvantage. His leg was still not fully recovered from his escapade with the dragon, and he walked with a distinct limp.
It was Ganry’s hope that one day Artas would be the one who protected their Queen. Having been a life long friend of Myriam, Artas was in a similar position to her, having also lost his parents. They had been beheaded for showing support to Myriam during the previous coup. This had brought Artas and Myriam closer together, a bond that was still strong.
The night went by without any incident, but even though they were still in the Kingdom of Palara, Ganry insisted on setting a watch. He was a seasoned warrior and always assumed prudence. Just because they were still in their homeland did not mean they were safe.
Ganry set a morning routine for the both of them so they would stay physically fit. Artas struggled with the running, but he said nothing, hoping it would strengthen his weakened leg.
They set off after breakfast and training, and soon arrived at Fort Wallbour. They met with General Royston, delivering to him the sealed message from Queen Myriam to march half his troops to the borders of Mirnee. He was somewhat taken by surprise as the rumors had not hit this part of the world yet.
They stayed and enjoyed the home comforts of the fort for one night. Ganry knew the sea crossing would be rough. He wanted one last day on dry land so he could sleep in a proper bed and eat good food. Queen Myriam ensured her soldiers were well fed and provided for. Still, Ganry did not let the comforts interrupt their exercise regime and he proved a hard taskmaster, but Artas never complained.
The next day found them riding down to the port town of Brammanville where Ganry would search out Admiral Bingham to deliver his other message. This proved more difficult than expected as it appeared he had not been seen for a number of days, and no one seemed to know of his whereabouts. He had left in one of the smaller vessels with a small crew to intercept a boat that had no authority to stray close to the Kingdom’s harbor.
If fishing boats from other countries came too close to shore to fish, they would be intercepted by the navy and guided out of Palaran territorial waters. It was unusual for fishing vessels to approach another’s harbors for they knew they would be questioned and possibly lose their catch. Generally, most fishing boats stayed out at sea and only went near their own ports.
It was a mystery, but not one that would delay Ganry’s journey. He could not concern himself with every problem he came across. After speaking with the acting Admiral, he left the Queen’s orders that instructed them to ready their ships for battle. Acting Admiral Patterson also informed Ganry that a search party was out looking for Admiral Bingham. It was probably bad weather out at sea that had caused delays. Ganry advised that the acting admiral send a messenger to Castle Villeroy if Bingham was not found. The Queen should be informed of the missing commander.
Passage on a trade ship had been booked for the two travelers and they were soon settling into their shared bunks in a small cabin. Neither of them liked to travel by sea, but it was the quickest way to Aelland, the capital city of Mirnee.
Once on their way, the journey proved to be tedious and boring, but Ganry kept up Artas’s training whenever the sea was calm enough for them to practice on the deck. The journey had so far been uneventful, but on the second day there was much excitement. Artas went to investigate all the noise.
“It seems they have come across Admiral Bingham’s boat,” Artas informed Ganry on his return. “Apparently it was very much off course to where it should be. Our Captain has boarded it to see if all is well. We should soon be back on course if there proves to be a simple answer to the mystery.”
Within an hour, the ship’s sails were hoisted and they were moving on again.
That evening Ganry spoke with the Captain at the dining table.
“He was not himself, no he was not,” the Captain told him. “Acted very strange, if you ask me. But it’s not my place to be telling an Admiral what to be doin’.”
“Why, what was he doing?” Ganry asked, becoming interested with this mystery. Admiral Bingham was one of Myriam’s trusted commanders. If he was acting out of character then it was a concern for the Kingdom.
“Well, I’d say he’s a fair man is the Admiral. Knows his business, always keeps calm but in control. Never one for shouting or looking flustered. Yet, he seemed kinda lost. He knows these seas like the back of ‘is ‘ands, he does, yet he asked for directions back to port. Bit odd if ya ask me. The crew seemed just as confused too,” the Captain finished, wiping his greasy hands on a napkin as he ate his fish supper.
“Maybe he had a knock on the head?” Ganry suggested.
“Nah, he was strange all round,” the Captain continued the tale. “When I asks about the fishing boat, he tells me to mind my own damn business and get back on course for wherever it is I’m off to. Said not to stand in the way of an Admiral. Never spoken like that to me afore. He’s generally a jolly fellow, not a wild one.”
“Appen he had a bad bit o’ rum ration,” another of the crew said, which lightened the mood and brought laughter to the room.
Ganry smiled, but glancing at Artas he could see concern etched on his features as well, showing the same concern that he felt himself.
Something was not right.
2
The Admiral’s boat arrived back at port Brammanville the very next day. It was with some relief that his second in command, Commander Patterson, watched the Admiral disembark, but he could see that there was something wrong. Never before had he seen such a storm pasted on his leader’s face.
The Admiral was a tall man, lanky but strong. He sported a short grey beard and neat mustache. He usually was an agreeable fellow, but today was unusually curt and abrupt.
“Patterson, I want to speak with you. We have much to do, follow me,” he demanded of his second in command as he marched off toward the port buildings.
Patterson followed immediately, using the opportunity to pass to the Admiral the Queen’s instructions that had been left by her emissaries. He was surprised when the Admiral made no attempt to open the orders immediately, instead placing them in the inside pocket of his uniform.
They arrived at a large wooden building that housed the naval headquarters and Patterson followed his leader straight into the operations room.
“I have orders that I want actioned immediately,” Admiral Bingham said, as soon as the door was closed behind them. “I command that every ship in this harbor is to set sail. We are to plot a Northern course and sail for two days. We will then weigh anchor and await further instructions.”
“What?” Patterson questioned the rationale behind such an order. “Sir, this is madness, surely you don’t mean every ship in the fleet? We cannot leave the dock unprotected, sir, I don’t understand.”
“It is not for you to understand my tactics, Patterson. It is for you to carry out my instructions.”
“Please Admiral, you must read the sealed orders from our Queen before you commit every naval vessel away from this port,” Patterson spluttered, totally confused at the behavior of his superior.
“Either you carry out my orders immediately, Patterson, or I’ll have you in chains. Which do you chose?”
Patterson looked at his Admiral, who was red in the face with anger and he did not doubt that he would have him locked up for insubordination. He was a changed man. Something must have happened to him while he had been out to sea for him to act so strangely upon his return.
The Admiral pulled out the sealed orders from the Queen. It seemed almost as a concession to his second in command. He ripped open the envelope, barely glancing at the message before screwing the paper up into his fist.
“This is exactly why we have to move the naval forces out of this port.”
“Surely the Queen wishes a small contingency to stay and protect the port, sir? Two days sailing is not ensuring the safety of the people of Port Brammanville,” Patterson argued.
“I will not stand for this insubordination for much longer, man. Give out my orders, now, Patterson, or I will find someone who will and you will spend the journey in the brig.”
This was a difficult situation for Patterson. He clearly believed the Admiral’s orders were at odds with what he understood from Queen Myriam’s emissaries. He could refuse, and be locked away, or he could play along and maybe become privy to the Admiral’s thoughts. It would be better to be by the Admiral’s side in order to determine exactly what was happening.
Patterson saluted the Admiral before leaving him alone in the operations room to relay his orders to the captains of the ships. He looked back at him, just before he closed the door, and felt that the Admiral was struggling with something personal. He seemed very troubled and was mumbling quietly, too quiet for him to hear his words. The Admiral’s orders were for the smaller ships to sail immediately on the evening tide, not even stocking up before leaving. The other captains looked at him incredulously, as if he had gone mad when he passed on the Admiral’s orders, but all obeyed.
It was a puzzle. Why would the Admiral want the port emptied? It was almost as if he was purposely leaving it open for attack. Maybe it was a ploy, some decoy to draw the enemy in and then ambush them. He had sailed with the Admiral for years, and respected his authority and his seafaring tactics, but he was no longer sure this was the same man. He was unhappy leaving the port with just a small army garrison to protect it. They were less than one hundred men and not much of a presence.
Even more confusing was that Patterson was ordered to board the same vessel as the Admiral, the North Star, and she was to head the naval forces. This was not the usual protocol, but Admiral Bingham had insisted that they sail together. Usually, they would sail on different vessels, spreading out the chain of command in case of attack. This was one anomaly that Patterson did not object to though. He wanted to be close to the Admiral, watch his every move. If necessary he would act to secure the safety of Palara and suffer the consequences at a later date.
It would be a few days before the larger ships would be ready to set sail, so Patterson decided to bide his time. He would await the right opportunity to act, if necessary, and hopefully get a better understanding of the Admiral’s intentions.
***
The weather so far had been fair. Ganry and Artas were at last finding their sea legs. They were both on the deck of the ship, Artas looking out to sea while Ganry sharpened his sword. He had decided to repair Windstorm before they had set out. It had been damaged in the battle with the usurper, Duke Harald. Originally, it had been forged by the great swordsmith, Grimlock Gladesmith, in the Limestone mountains. That had been a long time ago, and it was one of the last of its kind.
He was happy with the craftsmanship of Rosinda, the blacksmith, who had repaired the blade. She was a skilled swordsmith for sure. It was a shame that not many would use her services, believing that it was man’s work, but Ganry believed her workmanship to be equal, if not better, than that of any man he knew. She had added her own personal touches to the reforged blade and Ganry believed it to be even better than ever.
Ganry always believed that Windstorm had been special, almost with a mind of its own. When Rosinda told him his sword had magical properties, which were dependent on the holder who wielded it, he had not been surprised one bit. Once, not too long ago, Ganry would have said that she spoke nonsense, but now, he was not so sure—not after everything he had seen over the last few years.
Hendon, the forest dweller, had almost convinced him of the truth of magic with his extraordinary staff. Hendon also had other skills, seemingly able to understand and speak to the animals and trees. He had become a good friend and trusted companion, and Ganry wished that he traveled with them. Hendon had needed to return to his forest home after helping to recover the kidnapped Duchess D’Anjue. He did not care too much for travel, much preferring to be close to nature in his forest home.
Ganry sat and admired the blacksmith’s work. The dark sheen of the blade, its razor sharp edges, and its perfectly balanced weight. He swung it around, cutting it through the air in an intricate pattern of swirls and arcs. Artas watched on, amazed at the old veteran’s skill with the blade.
“Do you think I will ever be as skillful with a sword as you, Ganry?” Artas asked, hopefully.
“Not unless you train a damn sight harder than you have been so far. You’re getting lazy on this boat,” he retorted, pointing his sword at Artas.
Artas ignored Ganry’s challenge. Instead, something on the horizon caught his eye and he stared intently out to sea.
“Well then, boy, you afraid of an old man?” Ganry teased.
“Look,” Artas said pointing out across the water. “What is that large dark shape on the horizon over there?”
Ganry stood next to him and looked at the black mass. It appeared to be growing bigger every second.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a storm cloud, but it’s not like one I’ve ever seen before. It seems to be moving too fast. See how quickly it approaches. Whatever it is, something tells me we should not ignore it.”
Suddenly the ship’s bell rang insistently. Clearly they were not the only ones who had seen the dark shape on the horizon. The sailors were galvanized, shouting orders to each other and frantically rushing around, preparing the vessel for the approaching storm.
“I think our adventure has just begun,” Ganry said to Artas as they both readied themselves for the approaching darkness.
3
Chief Linz arrived at Castle Villeroy with a small contingency of his closest advisors. He was a good friend and a distant relative of the Queen and had come instantly at her calling, as had many leaders and nobility in the Kingdom of Palara. They were all here to discuss the threat to their borders.
He bowed to Queen Myriam as he entered the state rooms, pleased to see her looking so well after their recent ordeal. The arduous journey in the desert and then being held captive by the Akkedis, while they drained them of blood to feed the reptile empress, had exhausted them all.
“You are looking well, Queen Myriam,” he said, graciously.
“Please Linz, let us do away with the formalities. I’m in great need of friendship right now, having sent my closest friends away,” Myriam replied, looking a little fed up.
“Have you not called upon Hendon?” Linz asked, surprised not to see him.
“No, he’s busy wandering the land and training, so I’m leaving him be. One day I may need his skills, but this is not that day,” she explained. “How is your training going, learning to be a leader of your people?” she asked, knowing he would be struggling in his new role, as she was in hers.
“Experience and time will get us both there, Myriam, you know that,” he smiled back at her. “Now, tell me, how serious is this border breach?”
They spoke as they walked through the corridors of the castle towards the room that was to be used for the meeting. It was to be held in the community long room, a neutral place within the castle. It also had good acoustics so it was perfect for speaking to a large gathering.
“Well, I’ll be briefing everyone when we meet, but as I said, I’ve sent Ganry and Artas as my emissaries to Mirnee, hoping it can be dealt with quietly. Somehow, though, I think it is a little more sinister than a simple border standoff. I do believe they think us to be weakened, what with all our recent events. It seems that they began this build up while we were held captive by the Akkedis, although Artas was unaware of it. As of yet, they are showing no signs of breaching the border, to my knowledge, but the very act itself is aggressive. Still, I am somewhat perplexed as to exactly what they are up to,” she finished.
“I’m assuming you have scouts in the area?” Linz asked.
“Yes, of course. They report that all is well in the nearest village. I send scouts out weekly but the last group have not yet returned and I am concerned. Hopefully they’re just delayed with the weather, or some other innocent reason.”
They both entered the large meeting room, with the other attendees mostly present. Linz followed Myriam to the dais where she could be seated higher than the others and be heard well.
“I heard that Arriba was never found, by the way,” Myriam spoke quietly to Linz. “Qutaybah sent out a search party after it was agreed she was likely to have been the one to have poisoned you. They never found her, but rumors abound of a female Akkedis gathering her people to make a new life for themselves. I suppose we cannot deny them a new beginning.”
“Those lizard people, or Akkedis, or whatever you wish to call them, will never be welcome in the forest lands. We have solved the mystery of the Roogaru that fed off our blood for many years. We no longer fear the lizard people and will kill them on sight,” Linz retorted, a little anger in his tone. It had taken several weeks for him to recover after being poisoned by Arriba. It was only with the help of Barnarby, communicating through Hendon’s staff, that an antidote was procured. His stomach still troubled him on occasion, even now.
“You have every reason not to trust them, Linz,” the Queen agreed. “They killed your great Chief and haunted your people for many years. I understand your anger, but I, for one, would not ignore them completely. Who knows which friends and possibly allies we may need in the coming months.”
The room was becoming too noisy to continue their private conversation, so Queen Myriam called for silence, before standing to address the meeting.
***
The two young men riding the cart down the rickety path had gone to purchase a rug that was only made in the village of Norham. Leyla, the rug maker, was famous for her handmade quality carpets. She was well regarded in all of Palara for selling them as gifts for weddings or birthdays. She used the wool of the goats that grazed on the border grasses of Mirnee. The craggy hills have a stream of water that the goats drink from, which meanders down from the nearby mountains. It is said to have special minerals, giving their coats a beautiful sheen. Though the wool was too rough to be made into clothing, it was strong and hardy and made excellent heavy coats and rugs.
Isaac and Crin were not brothers, though they had known each other all of their lives. Isaac’s father owned the mill and Crin’s father worked in it. Their parents were best of friends, despite their social differences. Isaac’s mother had died when he was very young, and Crin’s mother treated Isaac as if he were her own. They had grown up as brothers and they were inseparable. They even looked alike. It stood to reason that they would travel together to purchase the rug for their shared mother’s birthday gift.
The journey from their village to Norham only took a few hours, and they arrived on their single horse pulled cart at around noon. As they came up on the outskirts of the small village, they looked down the main street. Both were surprised at how quiet it was. In fact, there was no one to be seen at all. Usually at this time of day there were many people bustling around, going about their business.
“I’m going to find Martha at the inn, she always has a kiss for me and a roll in the hay,” Crin boasted. He tended to be the more adventurous of the boys.
“I say we buy the rug first, then take it in turns to kiss Martha,” Isaac suggested, feeling it better to get the rug before they spent any money.
As they sat there, debating which task should be done first, they had not noticed what was happening at the edge of the woodland. A crowd of people had gathered and were walking towards them. They moved awkwardly, shuffling along slowly, but getting closer and closer.
“What’s that horrible smell?” Crin said as a foul odor invaded his nostrils. Standing up on the step of the cart, he noticed the crowd that had now grown to a considerable size, and heading their way.
“Is that the village people, Crin?” Isaac queried. “They don’t seem right.”
“No, they don’t,” he agreed as he sat back down and took up the reins.
The crowd was now close enough for the boys to hear that they were wailing mournfully. They walked with small shuffling steps, their heads bowed down with chins on chests as if their eyes were searching out something on the floor. The worst of it was the smell, metallic and nauseating, they seemed to smell of death itself.
“Crin, turn the cart around, the horse is spooked and so am I,” Isaac ordered.
Crin always did as Isaac asked, because he knew and accepted that he was the always the more sensible of the two. He spurred the horse on with the reins, and the cart slowly started to turn.
“Oh Maker, oh Maker look, that’s big John, but he ain’t right. He’s… he’s all pale and his eyes, his eyes are completely black,” Isaac shouted, looking back at the village mob.
The mob stopped, all at the same time as if they were one. There was a heavy sense of something bad, some pervading evil in the air. The two boys looked behind them and stared as the people all tipped back their heads. They all looked up to the sky, but their chins remained on their chests, each of their mouths an impossibly wide black pit. Suddenly, they emitted a high pitch screech that froze the boys in sheer terror.
Unable to move, they watched as the rabid crowd started forward again. The nearest ones were almost upon them with sightless eyes, black as coal, and mouths still gaping, filled with razor sharp teeth. The ones at the front reached out, their hands black and bloodied with large dirty fingernails that looked like they could rip a person to shreds.
One of the monstrous beings managed to scramble up onto the back of their cart, its hands reaching out to grab one of the boys. Still frozen in terror and unable to move, it seemed all was lost, when suddenly the horse found its legs and bolted in fear. Running as fast as it could, it pulled the cart away from the advancing creatures.
Once the cart had moved a distance from the mob, the terror eased and the boys regained control of their limbs. Isaac cried out in horror on seeing that one of them was still on the cart, its hands clawing at his legs as he had seated himself backwards to watch. He kicked out with all his might, and the skull of the whatever obscenity it was, caved in like a rotten peach, spraying him with its stinking black blood.
“Ride, Crin ride! For the Maker’s sake, don’t look back,” he encouraged his friend. “We ain’t waiting around to be their dinner.”
Crin tried to gain some control over the spooked horse, but he was having no success. At least it was pulling them away from the horrible apparitions they had seen in the village.
As they rode out, Isaac ignored his own advice, looking backwards only to see the mob still trying to follow them. Their movements were slow and awkward, and soon they were safely out of reach of the monstrous humans.
“I ain’t going back there, Crin. Ride quickly, like the devil himself is on our tail,” Isaac urged, a panic in his voice.
4
“What are those things?” Artas shouted out to Ganry, trying to be heard above the screeching birds that were rapidly approaching the ship.
“I’m not sure,” Ganry shouted back. “I’ve traveled many lands but never seen the likes of those creatures before.”
As the large, dark shape loomed closer, it had become obvious that the cloud was made up of many smaller shapes. Something was flying in the sky and it was not a storm cloud, as they had first thought. This was unlike any flock of birds anyone had ever seen. Even the seasoned Captain had no idea what to do or how to confront the menacing mass which was almost upon them. It was unclear if the flock had simply come across the ship in their travels, or more worryingly, had been sent to attack them by some unseen force that meant them harm.
As the strange creatures approached, the men could better make out what they were. Some of the crew relaxed a little, thinking them just unusual, but harmless. Initially, that seemed to sum up the situation. The birds were quite small, around the size of a man’s hand. Attached to their black, feathered bodies were small compact wings that worked frenetically to keep them in the air. The beating wings gave off a high pitched buzzing sound, and the combined noise of so many was almost deafening.
As they neared the ship, they could all see the creatures’ beaks. They looked like long yellow sticks, almost as long as their bodies. The beaks protruded out from the heads, and tapered into a wickedly sharp point.
They circled the vessel a few times. On each pass, it appeared the flock dropped down lower. The ship’s crew had stood mesmerized, all moving their heads together and watching the flock intently. It was a spectacular show. Assuming it was just an unusual phenomenon as when they observed a pool of dolphins jumping in and out of the seas, it gave the sailors a sense of calm. They were completely unprepared for what happened next.
The birds stopped the circling motion and dived down towards the ship as one large entity. Individually, they posed little threat, but together en masse, they were a formidable killing machine.
The creatures targeted one of the crew who had become separated from the others, swooping down on him at an amazing speed. Soon, he looked like a black blur of movement, as the flapping wings engulfed his body. A red mist of blood arose above him as they furiously pecked at the human with their vicious, knife-like beaks.
It took only seconds before the sailor fell to the floor, the birds still ravaging him. Finally, finished, they flew back into the sky, leaving nothing but a skeletal figure in a pool of blood. The birds had completely stripped the flesh from the sailor’s bones.
It had happened so quickly that no one had moved from where they stood. All looked on, aghast at what was left of their shipmate. Panic now ensued on board the ship. Sailors ran, desperate to find cover before the birds attacked again, but for some it was too late as they swooped down once more.
This time, the dark shape split up into three flocks, each one targeting a different human. Soon, screams of agony drowned out the buzzing of the beating wings as the creatures tore into the crew.
Artas and Ganry watched on in horror as the ship’s crew were decimated by the attacking creatures. Ganry could no longer watch the bloodshed without taking some action. Drawing his sword, he attacked a group of the birds that were still feasting on a fallen man. He swung Windstorm down in an arc, the sharpened, sleek blade sliced through the mass of blackness. Ganry was stunned to see that the creatures remained unscathed as if the blade had simply passed through them. He would not be dissuaded, even by death’s spawn itself.
He drew back his sword once more, and with a cry of defiance he swung it down with all his might into the black mass, once again. This time Windstorm was wreathed in hot red flames and the birds cried out in agony.
The hot fiery blade had sliced right through some of the small feathered bodies. Many of them burst into flame on contact, others tried quickly to rise back into the air. Those that managed to escape had been singed from Windstorm’s fire. Unfortunately, it was too late for the sailor whose body Ganry had been trying to defend. It had been stripped clean by the monstrous birds.
“Quickly, Artas!” Ganry shouted to his companion. “We need torches, an ordinary blade is no use against these creatures.”
Artas heeded Ganry’s warning, taking a lighted torch from the wheel house and thrusting it into another mass of attacking birds as they descended upon the crew once again. Waving the torch in front of him, they soon began to retreat and fly back up into the air.
The remaining crew quickly caught on, and soon all of them were armed with blazing torches, fending off the savage birds.
“How do we get rid of these creatures,” the Captain cried out to Ganry, who was slicing through yet another attacking flock. Windstorm was in full blaze, setting fire to any feathers that it made contact with.
“We burn them,” Ganry cried out. “The normal sword is useless. These creatures do not fear the blade as they are protected by magic. Fire, however, is a natural element they cannot avoid.”
The Captain rallied his crew and they all formed a circle of fire, thrusting out with their torches at any beast that dared to come too close.
“This is a dark evil that attacks my ship, that’s for sure,” the Captain bemoaned. “Burn them men, burn them all and send them back to the hell they came from!” he shouted out to the remaining crew.
Soon, the ship was covered with the charred bodies of the small dead creatures. More crew members had been lost, even in the end battle. The number of birds had dwindled so low that the remaining ones gave up the attack and retreated. At last they flew off in the same direction they had come from.
Every man left alive on the ship dropped in exhaustion from the life and death battle. As they collapsed to the deck, they could see their ship was a mess. Many of the hoisted sails had been damaged, either by the bird’s knife edge beaks or the fire that had consumed their bodies. The deck was littered with the charred remains of the birds and a number of dead colleagues. Most of the dead humans had been reduced to a pile of bones, so it would be hard to recognize who had died that day.
“I fear this is a day of dark evil,” Artas said as he seated himself on the wet deck, next to Ganry.
Both men allowed the spray from the sea that crashed over the bow of the ship to wet their bodies and cool them down. They too were exhausted and welcomed the cooling sea spray. Around them, the sailors began to clear the decks, removing the burned bodies of the ugly creatures and throwing them overboard.
“This does not bode well, my young friend,” Ganry said, fearing it might have something to do with their mission. He knew there was a long tradition of witchcraft in Mirnee. It had been practiced for centuries, though the Emperor had tried to ban it when the black arts had started to take hold. He suspected something, or someone, had stirred, for this seemed the work of magic. A dark magic at that.
“You believe this to be connected to us, Ganry?” Artas asked with raised eyebrows.
“Well, ask yourself, did the birds simply come across the ship on their travels? Or had they been sent to attack us by some unseen force?” Ganry paused for a moment before continuing, “Personally, I am inclined to believe the latter.”
“But how? Who could control such creatures?”
“The only kingdom I know that tolerates the existence of witches, is Mirnee, though they’re not supposed to practice. If memory serves me well, the Emperor could not abide them. He believed them to be a rogue force that no one could control. It was General Jeon, his First in Command of the armies, who said they were an asset to the lands. He had wanted to control them and set them to work for the good of Mirnee. The Emperor would have none of it, but I believe he managed to be persuaded. At the time, I was very skeptical that they could actually perform any magic, believing it to be trickery and fraud, but after this experience, I feel different about it now.”
“Are there no good witches? Surely they cannot all be evil?”
“Some, yes. They would cast their spells for the good of the community, increasing the harvest or calling for rain in time of drought. Most though, were attracted to the darker magic. Those witches do not heal or put their talents to good use for the sake of the people. They always strive to be the most powerful of their kind. I could never understand why the Emperor allowed them to stay in his lands. They could not be trusted, but Jeon’s argument must have been convincing. That was all many years ago and I do not know the situation now. I left, remember!”
“Perhaps the witches moved on to where they can now practice and created the monstrous birds?” Artas suggested.
“No, I don’t think they will have moved on, they had it good in Mirnee because General Jeon supported them. He moved them to a remote area where they could be left alone to practice their art. I think the Emperor tolerated his little project because, like me, he really didn’t believe in magic,” Ganry admitted.
“We should know soon enough. This will delay us. We were due to get into the port city of Aelland, tomorrow. I doubt that will be possible now, not with the damage to the ship, and we’re light on crew members too. I’ll check with the Captain, but I should think that we will lose a couple of days at least.”
“You go rest, now, boy. I will speak to the good Captain,” Ganry insisted. “You need to conserve your strength. I have a feeling this diplomatic mission of ours is going to be more troublesome than I first thought.”
5
“These are my boys. I know they are young but they would not lie to their Ma. Not about something as serious as this. I believe what they say is the truth, your Majesty. The villagers have been massacred, yet they walk around as if they still live,” the woman finished telling Queen Myriam the tale.
Myriam shuddered at the thought. Surely there must be some mistake? The dead do not walk around, of that she felt certain. What concerned her the most was that the villagers had been murdered, but by whom?
She looked upon the two young men, not much younger than herself. They appeared scared and had fear in their eyes. She needed to determine what exactly it was that they saw.
“I’m assuming you have checked the tale of the boys?” she asked, knowing very well that young boys would exaggerate their adventures, especially if they were in trouble.
“Yes, ma’am,” the woman replied. “The men have been to verify their story, and what they saw was horrific,” Crin’s mother explained. “We came straight to inform you. Our entire village is fearing that they will be next.”
“But what is it that makes you think the villagers are dead, if they are walking around?” the Queen asked, still unable to believe such a story.
“They be walking around with sightless eyes. They do not respond to their names, and some of them have injuries—injuries that no living being could bear,” Crin’s father replied. “When they saw us, it was the strangest behavior I ever did see. They made such a dreadful sound and attacked us. At first, we were unsure we were under attack. Even then, we never thought they would want to harm us, they’re our neighbors. I saw Mitchell Bragan, we drink together in the ‘Hanging Sheep’ on market day, but he tried to bite me. I was lucky and managed to push him away. Poor Alfonze wasn’t so lucky, they ripped him to shreds. I can still hear his screams in my head now.”
He stood tall to re-tell the tale, but his voice shook with fear. Clearly, the memory of what happened would live with him for years.
When the villagers had arrived in the early hours of the morning begging to speak with the Queen, her personal guards had awoken her. They thought that she needed to know what was happening on her border, especially with the problems of Mirnee. On hearing the news, Myriam quickly dressed and immediately came down to meet with the villagers. They were in the reception parlor, where they could sit comfortably while they awaited her arrival.
“I will send soldiers back with you to protect your own village,” Myriam assured the frightened people. “We will investigate what has happened at Norham, and, if necessary, deal with these… these people.” Even after they had recounted the event, Myriam still could not believe that the dead were walking around her Kingdom. “Tonight, you are welcome to rest here in the castle. Shelter and food will be provided for you all. As soon as you feel ready, we will organize your return.”
“No, milady, we must go immediately,” Crin’s father spoke up, not wishing to go against the Queen’s wishes and hospitality, but the matter was dire. “We have left our kin behind to come for help. We fear that whatever has happened in Norham may happen to us next.”
She nodded her understanding and walked away from the small group of representatives to speak with one of her commanders.
“This is a strange conundrum, Commander Flint,” she said to her adviser. “Can you spare any men to escort these people home?”
“Of course, ma’am, I will rouse some men immediately. There have been reports of strange events, so I would say that time is of the essence and we must move on this immediately. I will go myself, with a squad of fifty men.”
“What strange events? I have not heard such reports,” Myriam queried.
“One farmer, not far from the same border, found all his livestock slaughtered. Another has found all his crop, rank and rotted. There is talk of witchcraft by the locals. They believe their crops and livestock have been cursed,” Commander Flint reported. “I was to speak to you tomorrow, your majesty, but it seems that events have overtaken us.”
“Then we must act quickly and find out what is happening,” Myriam said, a worried frown on her brow. She turned and quickly returned to the villagers, who stood warming their hands around a burning log fire. “It is agreed. Commander Flint and his men are to escort you back this evening. Rest assured, these are fine men, some of the best in my army. They will guard your homes with their lives. For now, you must rest awhile around the fire. I will arrange some hot broth for you, to strengthen you for the return journey. I know you are in a rush to be home, but it will take a short while to make all the arrangements.”
The people nodded their agreement, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with exhaustion now they had stopped. Their journey tonight had been unexpected and many had not yet slept. A quick rest and refreshment would be very welcome. Although they did not wish to delay their return, they accepted the kind offer of the Queen and took the blankets that her servants offered them. Soon the smell of a beef broth filled the air as the kitchen staff delivered a warming dish with fresh bread.
While the villagers rested, Commander Flint hurried to the barracks and roused his most experienced men. Once all were gathered, he briefed them on the strange mission they were about to embark upon. He needed them prepared for the situation that they were to face when they arrived at the border town.
“We are told that these villagers are dead, yet they still walk,” he spoke to an attentive audience of seasoned soldiers. “They will attack and kill, if they get their hands on you. I can’t tell you much more as I’ve never seen or heard of such a thing. How we kill the dead, I’m not sure.”
“Separate their heads from their shoulders, sir, that should do the trick,” his Sergeant suggested.
“That sounds like good advice,” Flint agreed. “If they can’t see us then I don’t think they can kill us,” the Commander smiled.
The men laughed nervously. Most of them had fought in the recent battles of the coup. Some had even gone to the desert to rescue their Queen from the lizard people, the Akkedis, and fought in the battle in the underground city. Each of them was experienced, but still, they would need a cool head if what they were told was true about the occupants of Norham.
By the time the sun was rising above the horizon, a troop of fifty soldiers and five villagers set off on their journey. The soldiers would leave the villagers at their homes and then continue on to Norham, and whatever fate awaited them there.
6
The day was a sunny one as the ship finally arrived in port, almost two days late. To the casual eye all seemed normal, being unaware of the poor souls who were lost when the birds attacked. If anyone had looked closer, they would see the damaged sails and blackened masts, but no one really paid the ship any heed as she quietly sailed in.
As soon as the ship docked, Ganry and Artas disembarked quickly. They needed to secure lodgings before the night set in. Ganry felt as if he were finally home, flooded with emotions and memories almost as soon as he set foot on Mirnee soil.
“Are you well, Ganry? You have a distant look in your eyes,” Artas asked, dragging all the baggage down the walkway as Ganry stood staring into nothing.
“I feel like I never left, Artas, and the emotion of being back is quite overwhelming,” Ganry said in a quiet voice. “It looks almost exactly the same as it did the last time I was here, all those years ago. If my memory serves, a very dear friend of mine lives close by. He will put us up while we stay here.”
“Sounds better than staying in an inn, that’s for sure.” Artas was pleased. Friends always cook better meals than inns.
They set off into the market square that was up a hill with a wide flat road. Artas was impressed, he had always thought of anyone from another country as a barbarian, but it appeared that Mirneans were quite civilized.
“What are you smiling about?” Ganry asked the young man.
“Just smiling to myself, really. I thought we had come to a barbaric country, and I am surprised by the clean streets and busy folk going about their business.”
Ganry clipped him across the back of his head with the back of his hand.
“Ow! What was that for?” Artas was most put out.
“Because you think I am a barbarian,” Ganry replied, looking at the young upstart. “See, the market is the same as anywhere, with fresh fruits, chickens running around, and all the finest rugs you could ever wish for. While I am here, I will buy myself a new fur coat. It will be made of biggest, most luxurious bear fur you have ever seen. The bears in this land are known for their size and their furs will last you a lifetime. I left in a hurry and never did pick one up to take with me.”
Artas looked around at the market stalls. They looked exactly the same as they did in his homeland, expect there was livestock running around free, which seemed a little strange to him.
“Shall we try the food, Ganry?” Artas’s tone was almost pleading. He was starving and his mouth was salivating at the delicious meats cooking on a spit. The food on the ship had been palatable, but plain. This food looked delicious.
Ganry pulled him away from the stall. “Wait until your stomach has adjusted, young one,” he warned. “Those spices will burn your tongue away and who knows what they will do to your guts. You need to gradually introduce yourself to the foods of this land. Hot and spicy is the key ingredient to everything.”
“Let’s buy some fresh bread then. Look over there, can’t you smell it?” Artas followed the smell and soon found himself almost nose to nose with a young woman, stood on the bakery doorstep.
“Are you trying to mow me down?” she asked, frowning.
“Oh, I do apologize, ma’am, I was just, erm, I was just catching the delicious smells coming from your shop.” Artas blushed as he stuttered his words.
“This is the best bread in the city, if not the whole of Mirnee. Freshly made by Ma and Pa who get up at the crack of dawn so the likes of you can taste something real good,” she said, still not breaking a smile.
“I’m sure it is, but how can I taste it if you’re standing in my way?” Artas blurted out.
“Why didn’t you say so?” she stepped aside so he could enter. “If you have money in your pockets, you are welcome into my shop.”
He stepped inside and was greeted by a wonderful concoction of aromas that made his stomach grumble. He bought a long thin stick of bread that was still warm. She tried to persuade him to buy some sweet buns and fruit tarts, but he explained that he had somewhere to go and could not eat it all so quickly.
“Ahh, you have bought a Mirnee stick, delicious,” Ganry said, taking it off him and breaking it in two, passing one half back to Artas. Both busily chewed on the delicious crusty bread as they set off through the market and into the town, in search of Ganry’s friend.
7
The warm bread filled a deep hole in Artas’s stomach, making him yearn for some meat, but they were leaving the lovely smells behind. He followed Ganry out of the market as they began to climb a steep hill.
“This city is built in layers, the higher you go, the more wealthy the residents. As we climb, we will pass through a gate to the next level,” Ganry explained the layout to his companion. “At the top you will find the Emperor’s palace and grounds and nothing else. The layer prior to that holds the barracks of the Emperor’s guards and quarters for invited guests. As you work your way down, there will be a merchants layer, full of the largest houses, and…”
“I get it, I get it,” Artas puffed back at him. “I can’t believe they built this city on a mountain. How many layers do we have to climb?”
“We’re going up to the merchant’s layer. My, erm… friend is wealthy. He is a caring and kind man. If he is still there, he will welcome us into his home.”
They did not linger as Ganry rushed them higher up into the city. Artas would love to have stopped and looked around, but all he got to see was a poor area with ramshackle structures. Then another market, though this one was mainly for livestock with bulls, horses, and sheep. It had a typical country smell swirling in the air and sticking in the nostrils. As they entered each layer, Artas wondered at how they did not get lost. The streets were narrow with many alleyways, almost as intricate as a maze.
They passed through a set of double gates and arrived at a public park with a small boating lake. The air felt fresher and the sun still shone over their heads. Ganry no longer led him in a upwards spiral, they now walked through this section. They entered a tree-lined road with large walls. Behind the walls were huge houses set back on large grounds. This was certainly more spacious than some of the poorer areas they had seen.
“The Mirnee are obsessed with wealth.” Ganry stopped to rest and chat.
“Yeah, it’s quite obvious when you leave the poorer areas behind. The last section seemed really pretty. What was that one?” Artas asked.
“Mainly people of a profession. The scholars and those who work at a trade, soldiers who are of higher rank. But, here, you have the bankers and the people who run everything.” Ganry educated the young Artas in the way of life in Mirnee.
“Are the people at the bottom allowed to move up a level if they are successful?” Artas was wondering if the poorer people were stuck there forever.
“Absolutely, that is what the whole system is about, bettering yourself. All in all, they are an ambitious people, always looking for a deal that will benefit them. So watch out for their craftiness,” Ganry warned. “They don’t mean to be that way, they are just raised to always seek an opportunity that will better them.”
“And you, Ganry de Rosenthorn, what is your story?” Artas tried to tease it out of him. “Did you partake in making yourself rich?”
“I was born to wealth, a nobleman much the same as yourself. My father disowned me when I was exiled, though there is more to the story than that. I would prefer to save it for another day, young Artas.”
“I understand, and I don’t mean to pry.” Artas hesitated a moment, but then plowed on. “About your exile, may I ask what you did, Ganry, to deserve such a harsh ruling?”
“Let’s just say I had a disagreement with the General,” Ganry said, his tone indicating he did not wish to discuss it further.
“But are you still in exile?”
“Not anymore. Anyway, we are here,” he said, pointing to a large set of ornate wooden gates.
“Look at the craftsmanship,” Artas said in amazement as he gazed up at a set of intricately carved wooden gates.
“Pull on that, would you?” Ganry pointed to a brass chain. On the end was a brass knob shaped like a dragon’s head with an open mouth. “It will inform the servants there is someone at the door.”
Artas seemed reluctant to pull on the mouth of the dragon. “Don’t worry,” Ganry assured him, “it is their door protector, stops evil from passing through. It won’t hurt you unless it considers you evil,” he smiled. Artas pulled on the chain, though somewhat cautiously.
After a short wait, a small door in one of the gates opened up and a crooked old man peeked out.
Ganry grinned widely and held out his arms. “Berne, you are still alive?” he joked with the old man. “I gather that means that Ludas is still master of the house?”
“Master Ganry, so good to see that you are also still alive.” The old man looked genuinely happy to see him. “We had heard many tales of your passing. Come, come. Master will be over the moon when he sees you. Come,” he said, stepping aside so they could enter the house.
As they stepped through the gate, they entered a glass tunnel leading to the house proper. They continued to follow the old man, who moved fairly swiftly considering his age. He led them to a room where he asked them to wait, before leaving to go in search of the master of the house. Though the building was opulent, in its design of triangular shaped roofing and columns everywhere, the inside was furnished simply and very minimalistic. The two men sat on large cushions placed on the floor for such purposes.
They didn’t have long to wait before a man, bearing a strong resemblance to Ganry, came through the door.
“I don’t believe it, is it really you, Ganry, my boy? You’re home, you have come back to us after all these years. This is a joyous day in the Rosenthorn household.”
“Uncle Ludas, it is good to see you too,” Ganry responded. “It has been far too long.”
8
Artas felt a little uncomfortable at such a private reunion. Clearly this man was very fond of Ganry, and it certainly seemed to Artas this affection was returned. Ganry, it seemed, was a bit of a dark horse. He never spoke of his family here, even though it was obvious he loved them.
Ganry was surprised at how emotional the return home would be, especially at meeting his uncle after all these years. Ludas had always been a supporter of Ganry, even when his own father had disowned him. They had been very close. As a child, Ganry had spent most of his time with his uncle. It was he who had taught him to ride a horse and become a master of the sword, his own father far too busy running his own lands and border army.
Ludas de Rosenthorn was a tall slender man, much as all the de Rosenthorn males were. Their ancestors were originally migrants, seeking refuge from a war-torn country known as Francestra. They had made their home on the borders of Mirnee, and grateful for the protection that the country offered them, they helped to guard the borders. This was now what they were mostly known as, “Guardians of the Borders.” His father owned a large private army called the “Rosenthorn Defenders,” but still swore loyalty to the Emperor. They guarded the borders from a hostile Francestra.
“Now, I have you, you need not think I’m letting you lose contact again. Last I heard you had made a name for yourself, protecting the Queen of Palara? Is this still your role?” his uncle asked.
“Indeed,” Ganry replied. “I am here on my Queen’s affairs. It seems Mirnee is overstepping their territorial grounds on our borders. It is my hope to have an appointment with the Emperor to find out what he seeks to gain with this aggressive move.”
“Many things have changed in recent years, Ganry, and I will update you, but only over dinner. We will have a feast to welcome you back into your family. Your father has missed you greatly,” Ludas announced, which came as a surprise to Ganry.
“I cannot think why, uncle. He disinherited me. Thought me an embarrassment to his lineage. I will not be seeking his company,” Ganry said, a scowl on his brow.
“No matter, all that can wait for a later day.” His uncle smiled. “Come, Berne has already set the kitchen staff in motion. While will eat we can discuss the politics of Mirnee. I insist that we enjoy some fine wine brought in from Francestra, would you believe. What do you say?”
“Uncle, you always had an answer for everything, forever the diplomat,” Ganry smiled back, following his uncle to the dining area.
Artas walked up to talk quietly in Ganry’s ear. “You never told me we were to stay with your relatives. I might finally find out about the life of the mysterious Ganry. Is this wise?”
Ganry patted Artas on the back, “My friend, I have no secrets. I just do not openly share my privacy. I have nothing to hide. All you learn you are welcome to know.”
Already there was a spread of good food on a long table that sat low to the floor. They took their seats on large cushions. It seemed, in this house at least, chairs were not a common furniture item. This was a new kind of dining for Artas. Although he had a plate in his place, he had no cutlery. Just as he turned to Ganry to ask about his utensils, he noted that his friend was using two long, thin sticks to eat his food.
Ganry noticed Artas’s puzzled look.
“Can we arrange for some cutlery for my young friend here?” Ganry asked one of the servants.
Soon, Artas was armed with fork, knife, and a large spoon. He quickly dug into the feast, forgetting all about his problems as he began to fill his empty, rumbling stomach.
“What are those sticks you eat with, Ganry?” Artas asked, his mouth full of a delicious, spicy meat.
“You will learn how to use them soon enough.”
“I thought you said this food would be too spicy, it’s delicious,” Artas said, now moving on to another meat and popping it straight into his mouth.
“Artas, do not…” Ganry wanted to warn him that was a spicy hot dish, but it was too late.
Artas was chewing and suddenly stopped, his eyes opening wide and tears streaming down his cheeks. He promptly swallowed the contents in his mouth and rushed for his glass of water, coughing in the process.
“You must introduce yourself gradually, Artas,” Ganry laughed at his predicament. “These are not flavors you are used to. The food in Palara is much blander than in Mirnee. To begin with, ask me first. You’ll soon learn how to smell the spices.”
Artas just nodded his head, still unable to speak from the intense heat that raged in his mouth. Ludas laughed along with Ganry. Poor Artas, he just had his first lesson in Mirnee culture, hot spicy food.
“I must speak in earnest with you, Ganry,” his uncle said, taking a large sip of wine to give him courage. “Strange things are happening in the capital of Mirnee. We cannot go out at night as there is a curfew, set by the army. Those who do are captured by strange beings and never seen again.”
“Why is the Emperor allowing this, Ludas?” Ganry asked, puzzled. “This is not like him. He was always a benevolent leader.”
“Indeed, young nephew, indeed. However, they say that the Emperor is possessed by some madness. No one can get to see him, so no one really knows.”
“What of General Jeon? Has he not stepped up to protect the Emperor?” Ganry would have thought this the first course of action, so was the General also possessed?
“The General is the one giving out the orders these days. He has been a changed man since he lost his son.”
“The General cannot be trusted then?” Ganry asked, frustrated at such news.
“I had discussed this very subject with our Emperor on many occasions, when it was still possible to be granted an audience with him. I even thought he was beginning to understand that General Jeon was perhaps not the most loyal of subjects. But, things changed some eight years ago, when the Emperor mysteriously had an heir.”
Ganry was shocked at the revelation. “I had heard of no such event.”
“Not many outside of our borders have, Ganry. The news of the birth has been kept relatively secret. It was eventually announced publicly, and then the child disappeared.”
Again Ganry was taken aback by this news. “How can a royal baby be kidnapped, and yet unheard of outside of Mirnee?”
“Ganry, have you been away so long that you have forgotten? This is Mirnee, we keep secrets even from our own mothers. It is second nature! Besides, many believe that the Emperor himself arranged the kidnap to keep the child safe. Other rumors say the child is odd and has been purposely kept out of sight.”
“Safe from who, and what do you mean by odd?”
“No one is really sure what has happened up in the palace. The child may be an albino, but I also think that the Emperor finally suspected that General Jeon is a threat, both to him and his child. There are some that believe the Emperor instigated the kidnapping.”
“Surely not? Jeon would not attempt a coup. The Emperor is far too popular for Jeon to be successful.”
“Yes, at one time that was true. But the Emperor has been seen less and less in public. Rumors abound from the palace indicate he acts very secretive. All has not been well in Mirnee for many years, and now, I fear for the Emperor’s life. He has become virtually a recluse and never seen in public. It is the General who holds full authority over all matters in Mirnee.”
“I knew Jeon was an ambitious man, but I would never have thought him capable of this,” Ganry said, incredulously.
“I also knew the General well. It is only in recent years that he has become capable of treason. He is a changed man. I’m not sure what has corrupted him. Regardless, it is not safe now to be critical of the regime. Those who speak out go missing, their families too. These are important and wealthy people in the Kingdom who have just disappeared. They include high figures in politics, all gone. We are now left in fear. No one dares to question the General anymore.”
“This is terrible news, uncle, terrible.”
Ganry put down his food and picked up his drink. It was going to be a long night while he learned the history of the last ten years since he had left Mirnee.
9
Ganry and Artas had agreed that they should patrol outside at night and try to discover exactly who these dark guards were. Not only that, they also wanted to enter the palace to see if they could observe the Emperor and possibly speak to him. This was against the advice of Ludas. However, he did agree that the time had come to do something. The people of Mirnee had too easily accepted their fate. It was true to say that they lived in fear of General Jeon and the newest recruits to his forces.
“I’m proud to say, Ganry, that you are true to your bloodline,” Ludas said, proudly. “You have barely set foot in the Kingdom and already you are scheming and planning for the benefit of its people. We have been in a daze, I suspect, and far too compliant to the will of the General. Fear has kept us silent, especially when those who have complained have also mysteriously disappeared. Now, the time is right to make a stand, and it took a de Rosenthorn to make us see that. Long enough have we cowered in our homes. Lead the way Ganry, and I will gather the people.”
Once nightfall was upon them, it was time to take to the streets. Ganry and Artas dressed in dark clothing and covered their faces in a wet mud provided by the servant, Berne. They left Ludas’s house and decided to go down the hill of the city into the poorer regions. This would make it easier to move around as they could go over the rooftops, a trick Ganry knew well. The houses lower down in the city were built close together. From the rooftops they could observe the streets and the new night guards.
Artas struggled running across the roofs with a limp. His leg was improving in strength, especially with all the exercises Ganry had him doing, but it may never return to its former state. They stuck mainly to the flat roofs because of this, though Artas complained at Ganry for doing so.
“Where we go is unimportant,” Ganry explained. “It’s who we find that matters. Now come, the longer you spend babbling, the less ground we will cover.”
As they stood deciding which direction to take, they heard a commotion in a street close by. It seemed someone was running, and from the commands to halt, they were running from other people. The pursuers shouted threats and sounded extremely hostile. This was a dangerous part of town, and often the weak were robbed, murdered, or worse.
Jumping over the darkened rooftops, Ganry and Artas made their way in the direction of the noise.
“There,” Ganry whispered to Artas while pointing toward a dark alley. In the gloom he could just make out a small figure running towards them.
As the figure grew closer and came into the alleyway, Ganry dropped down from the roof and landed behind them. He quickly but silently moved in close. In one easy, fluid movement, he had his arm around their throat and his hand over the runner’s mouth.
“Shhh, do not make a sound. We are friends, do not fear us.”
The person stopped struggling and Ganry released his grip.
“Quickly, onto the roof.” He nodded at the building he had just dropped down from.
Artas reached down holding out his hand. The new companion jumped up, grabbing ahold and allowing Artas to drag the stranger up and onto the roof. He was surprised at how light the person was. Turning back to reach down and help Ganry, he was shocked to see he wasn’t there. Instead, he was already on the roof and stood by the stranger.
“How’d you do that, old man?” he asked in surprise. The top of the building must be at least fifteen feet from the street, and yet his mentor had climbed it unaided!
Ganry ignored Artas, indicating with his hands that they should all lie down flat on the roof.
Within seconds, four dark shapes came from the same direction as their new companion and headed into the alleyway. They paused for a moment as if deciding which direction to follow, but Ganry had a sense that they were searching their minds. A cold dread spread over his skin. He glanced at Artas, only to see he was shivering, his breath visible in the air. This feeling grew stronger and stronger and he had to fight to control an urge to stand and run. Suddenly, the feeling was gone as a noise further down the alley took their attention away, and they quickly set off in that direction.
Ganry stared after them as they moved off down the alley. They were strange creatures, completely sheathed in darkness, and they seemed to be hovering slightly above the ground.
“What manner of creature follows you?’ Artas asked the new companion, a note of relief in his voice.
“They are the Night Shadows, controlled by a witch,” the person replied, removing a cowl and showing it was a young woman. “They cannot function unless a witch is close by.”
“Why are you roaming the streets with such danger lurking around every corner?” Artas asked her.
“Because I have to, I have remedies to deliver for people who are in pain. Besides, they are completely blind and cannot see you. It is the witch you have to be careful of. Her mind works through them,” she said a little scornfully. “If she spots you, she will send them. I know how the Night Shadows work and have little trouble avoiding them, but it was your fault they saw me tonight.”
“What? Why?” Artas was shocked at her words.
“Because you distracted me. I spotted you on the roof and thought you were a lurking witch. Because I was distracted, I failed to see the real witch. These witches are easy to lose, which is exactly what I was doing, until you grabbed me and nearly choked me,” the woman said with a touch of annoyance in her voice.
“Well, that’s how you thank people around here, is it?” Artas puffed.
“Have you finished your deliveries?” Ganry asked the female.
“I was on my way home, when you so rudely intervened,” she retorted.
“Will you come with us?” Ganry asked. “We’d like to learn more, but we should get off the streets.”
“That depends where you want me to go.”
“Into the Merchants quarters. We have a safe house,” Ganry replied.
“Depends which merchant. You’ll have to tell me his name or I’m not going anywhere with you two, particularly this one.”
Artas moved away from her, not wanting anymore insults for trying to save someone’s life. The people in this city were rude and ungrateful.
“Do you know Ludas?” Ganry asked her.
“Everyone knows Ludas. Yes, I will come with you,” she agreed.
They wasted no time on the dangerous streets and were soon back at the house of Ludas. They were greeted at the gate by Berne, who let them in.
“Welcome, young Daphne, you risk too much when you make those night time deliveries. Ludas has warned you to stop doing them,” Berne scolded her.
“I know, Berne, but I cannot let others suffer when I can help, all because of a few shadows. I’ve learned how to avoid them and never get spotted. Well, until tonight that is.” She looked scornfully at Artas and Ganry.
“We were trying to save your life,” Artas protested.
“I didn’t need your help. I know exactly how to escape them.”
“The pair of you, be quiet,” Ganry finally interrupted. “All is well. Daphne, and whilst I am sure you can handle yourself, I truly believe you were in a little too deep tonight. Despite your protestations, the shadows were gaining on you.”
Daphne said nothing in response but she knew deep inside that she had been spooked, and in reality, she was grateful for their help.
“Putting all that aside, I am pleased to make your acquaintance and would be grateful if you could share your knowledge of the Night Shadows with us. We need to understand how they work,” he asked.
“They are not creatures, they are simply shadows conjured by magic. Once the witch sets a shape to capture you, then it will hunt you down. Once it catches you, it renders you paralyzed. It cannot see, but it has some way of sensing you. I felt it tonight for the first time, while we were there on the roof. It was terrifying.” Daphne shuddered at the memory.
“I felt it too,” Artas confirmed, “it was like a cold frost had crept over me and I had a sudden urge to run, just run anywhere to get away from that feeling.”
“So the real question is, why is there a curfew?” Ganry asked, unable to see any obvious answer.
Ludas answered as he entered the kitchen. “I think many of the soldiers are posted away from the city. From what you say about the borders, maybe they are all gathering there. The witches have been left to man the city, but no one really knows what’s going on. It’s time we found out, yes? The time has come for the people of Mirnee to stand up for themselves. We have been protected by a good Emperor, and he is in great need of his people to save him.”
10
They all slept very little that night after discussing the best way forward to discover what had befallen the Emperor.
The next day, they made plans to go out again that evening. Even Daphne agreed to return before night fall. The plan was to make their way to the palace, gain entry, and seek out the Emperor. Simple in the planning, not so simple in the execution, Ganry thought.
Ludas had provided them with the necessary attire and tools for their late night mission. Dark, tight-fitting clothing with strong belts for the various small tools and ropes which would enable them to climb the palace walls, or any other obstacle for that matter. Artas was unsure how well he’d do with the climbing, but Ganry assured him that he would be fine, and between them they would ensure he managed.
It helped that the Night Shadows only patrolled the lower levels. In the areas that contained the palace and the palace guard barracks, no witches were present as no curfew was in force there. Once there, it would simply be a matter of getting into the palace.
Fortunately, Ganry could help there, too. He knew of secret tunnels leading from the stables into the palace grounds. These were built centuries ago and very few people now knew of their existence.
They set off just before midnight. The night was overcast and the moon was enveloped by thick clouds, perfect for their secretive night time foray.
The gate between this level and the barracks would be very well guarded so they took an alternative route. At the opposite end to the gate was a huge apple orchard. Ganry knew it well. He also knew that some of the trees were so close to the wall that they would be easy to climb and jump over and into the barracks compound. Ganry had done this often as a young boy, where he would watch the soldiers train and dream of one day being just like them. Artas was not too keen on this plan but he did not want to look foolish in front of Daphne, so he would do his utmost to get up that tree.
They reached the apple orchard without encountering any of the Dark Shadows or witches on the way, and soon they were all crouched down close to the wall.
“There’s an old tree close by that towers well above the wall, if it’s still there,” Ganry told them. “The branches hang over the other side and it’s simply a case of dropping down. Just follow me, I’ve done this many times, although it has been a few years now.” He smiled ruefully at them.
Ganry started to climb and when he reached the level of the wall, he called the others to follow. Soon they were all in the tree, balancing precariously on a number of thick branches.
Ganry quickly scanned the other side for activity, and that’s when he saw a huge column marching towards the gate. They were led not by soldiers but by witches and the Dark Shadows. Even from this distance it was obvious that there was something not quite right about them. They shuffled along slowly, unlike any marching column he had ever seen. A putrid smell emanated from their direction, almost like death itself.
“What manner of creatures are those?” Daphne whispered. “Surely they are not human?”
“Some ungodly monsters produced by witchcraft, no doubt, but to what purpose?” Ganry said. “Do they look human to you, Artas?”
“In a sense, yes, they are the right shape. Yet they all seem disfigured, somehow. There’s a terrible odor coming from over there, as well,” Artas replied, covering his nose and mouth.
They observed the moving group and noticed a flash of light as a witch approached one of the creatures who had fallen behind. The light had been made by the witch and shone on the slow moving figure.
“Are they dead?” Artas questioned. “See, look at his skin, it is a pallid grey and those eyes, just blackness. There is no spark of life in them at all.”
The strange body stopped in its tracks and turned towards them. It seemed to be sniffing the air, as if it had caught their scent. Suddenly, it opened its mouth beyond that of a human and let out a high-pitched screech, forcing everyone to cover their ears. They balanced behind the bushy branches, certain they could not be seen, but the figure seemed to be looking right at them. The witch looked over and pointed its staff in their direction, and two Dark Shadows floated towards the wall, close to where the tree overhung.
Once again Ganry, Artas, and Daphne felt that cold feeling of dread creep over them, sending waves of panic through their minds. It took all of their will power to resist the urge to run, but after a few moments the Dark Shadows moved away and they all sighed in relief.
They stayed under cover and watched the shuffling column move out of sight, passing through the gate and down into the Merchant’s Level. Now Ganry understood the curfew. It was to allow the movement of these creatures undetected, but where were they headed, and why?
“It’s all clear now. They’re building an army, and I think it consists of the dead,” Ganry spoke to Artas and Daphne. “Come on, we must get moving. This branch here is sturdy enough to hold a person, and it hangs over the wall. It’s a simple drop down to the other side where the ground should rise, making the drop easier. I will go first and show you the way.”
Ganry edged along the sturdy branch which gave slightly with his weight. As he passed over the top of the wall, he took the branch in both hands and swung down, dropping to the ground. The landing jarred him slightly and he smiled to himself. He was no longer an adventurous ten year old.
Artas and Daphne watched Ganry disappear from view, unable to see if he had landed safely in the dark. After a few seconds they heard a low whistle indicating he was on the other side, and the next person should go.
Artas went next. He wanted to get it over with as he did not feel too confident. He knew his leg would cause him problems when he dropped, despite Ganry’s assurances that the drop wasn’t too far. Edging along the branch, he swung down as he had seen Ganry do, and clung on, readying himself for the fall. Then he felt Ganry take his weight, and he let go as he was lowered to the ground. Artas was relieved to have made it. His leg was getting stronger every day, thanks to Ganry and his exercise regime.
Daphne followed as soon as she saw Artas disappear, and in no time she was hanging off the branch and also felt Ganry’s strong hands on her legs. She let go and allowed him to guide her to the ground.
“Now we just have hundreds of soldiers to get past. Think we can do it?” Artas said, jokingly, but in reality he did not have a clue how they were going to get through the barracks.
“As always, young Artas, I have a plan.” Ganry crouched down low and slipped off into the shadows.
“Where is he going now?” Daphne queried.
“Best not to ask.” Artas had no idea of Ganry’s intentions.
Artas and Daphne crouched down in the shadows and awaited the former mercenary’s return. It seemed an age before they heard a rustling in the bushes nearby, and Artas’s heart was in his mouth when he saw an imperial soldier moving towards them. He reached down and firmly gripped his sword hilt, ready to draw. As the soldier drew nearer, he breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized Ganry, dressed in a soldier’s uniform.
Ganry moved into the bushes and passed Artas a pile of clothing. “I think he’s your size. Get your clothes off,” Ganry ordered. “This one should fit you,” he told Daphne as he passed her a uniform too.
They both quickly changed. The uniforms were not a perfect fit, but they should pass anything except a close inspection.
“The way is clear to the stables,” Ganry said, after looking them over. “Most of the guards, it seems, are sleeping in the barracks, and only a few patrol the area. They’re a little complacent for my liking, but that should work to our advantage.”
They made their way quietly to the stables. Artas was surprised, despite Ganry’s words, that they saw or heard no one on their journey. It seemed odd to Artas. These were the Emperor’s protectors, surely they guard their leader better than this?
The stable was also empty, not only of people but horses, too. This was just one more puzzle to add to the others. Ganry entered an empty stall and began to tap at the wooden panels at the back. After a few moments, he was satisfied he had found the right spot and was soon sliding away the wall to reveal a dark tunnel. Turning to the others, he stuck up his thumb just before disappearing through the hole.
“Follow me,” he instructed. “It’s a bit cramped in here, but there’s enough room if we go single file. I’m afraid it’s not very high either, so you’ll have to crawl.”
Artas and Daphne looked at each other, sighed, and once again they followed after Ganry, neither of them entirely sure what to expect.
11
It seemed they were in the tunnel for hours, in the dark, cramped and very warm atmosphere. Artas’s leg was beginning to ache, but he struggled on, silently. Ganry had gone on ahead, but there was no chance of taking a wrong turn because there were none. Just one singular tunnel that seemed to continue on, relentlessly on and on. Finally, just when Artas felt he could go no further, he could see a light up ahead. In a few moments they were out of the tunnel and into what looked like a laundry room.
Artas sat down and stretched his leg to loosen the joints and relieve the aching pain, grateful for the rest. Though it did not last long before Ganry was leading them out of the room and into the passageways of the palace.
Making their way around the palace was easy, for Ganry knew all the secret passages and doors. As a boy, he and Porteus, General Jeon’s son, had been left to run around freely in the palace. The Emperor had been fond of bumping into them both, unexpectedly. He genuinely enjoyed watching them play and encouraged them to go anywhere they liked within the palace walls.
Being back in the palace reminded Ganry of his father, who would come here with him whenever he had an audience with the Emperor. Ganry’s father was a political man, influential in the circles of power. He wondered what part, if any, his own father was playing in this strange affair. His father was a great supporter of the Emperor. It would be unlikely that he would do anything to harm the royal family.
He didn’t have time to ponder on the political stance of his father. Right now, all three of them were wedged in the narrowest of passageways. It had seemed much wider when he was last here, still, he was a young boy then. This passageway, if he remembered correctly, led to the Emperor’s bedroom, and Ganry had traveled its length many times in the past. He hoped that the Emperor would be in his bedchamber, and that he might find the opportunity to speak with him.
Eventually, they came to the end of the passageway. The exit to the room was disguised and covered by a huge mirror on the wall, but this was no ordinary mirror. It was possible to see through the mirror without being seen from the other side. What use it served he had no idea, but it gave them a perfect view into the Emperor’s bedchamber.
Sure enough, as Ganry had hoped, the Emperor was in his bed. He did not look well, just a mere shadow of his former self. His face, a face that Ganry remembered as ruddy and kind, was a pallid gray with sunken features, not unlike the creatures they had seen earlier. Thankfully, there was still some life left in the Emperor’s body. His thick red locks that had been his most striking feature were now gone. He was almost completely bald, with only a few wisps of white hair.
Ganry was just about to move the mirror to one side when the door to the bedroom opened and in came a woman. She was dressed in a silver gown and appeared to shimmer as she moved. Ganry was not all that certain that it was entirely due to the clothing. There was something strange about her. She almost looked unsubstantial, her skin shimmering, just like her clothes.
She moved to the side of the Emperor’s bed and bent down to speak quietly in his ear. Her voice was soft, yet husky and deep, carrying easily to where they hid in the passage.
“Emperor Fontleroy, if you wish for things to return to normal, then you must tell me where I can find your son. He needs to be taken to a place of safety.”
It looked for a moment that the Emperor was incapable of answering, but as he glanced at the mirror a thin smile came to his lips, and he finally found his voice.
“You cannot have my Kingdom, witch, and you will never have my son. I foresee that a warrior will smite you and your General down, saving my son and my people from your witchcraft.” All the while he spoke, his eyes never left the mirror.
There was no way anyone could see them. Ganry had hidden in this wall many times and never been discovered, but the Emperor definitely seemed to sense his presence.
“Pah!” the silver witch woman cried out. “You are a fool. No one is coming to save you and we already have your Kingdom. It is only a matter of time before we have your offspring too.”
Ganry made a hand gesture to Artas, indicating it was time to move out of the space and make their way back. He hated to leave the Emperor like this, but clearly, at least for now, he was worth more to them alive than dead. He would need to speak with Ludas and see how many he could rally to their cause. Ludas had agreed to muster some sympathetic supporters to their cause while Ganry was away. Maybe between them, they could come up with a plan to help the Emperor and find out where his son was.
It took the rest of the evening and most of the early hours of the morning to escape the palace. They made their way through the barracks and back onto the merchant level. Before long, they were back in Ludas’s residence.
His uncle was pleased to see them. He had expected them back sooner and had started to worry.
“Thank the maker you are still alive. I feared you had been captured,” he said as he greeted them in the kitchen.
Ganry told him of what they had discovered, but Ludas stopped him.
“I have a few people who are loyal to the Emperor. Speak to them of what you have seen.”
Ganry, Artas and Daphne followed Ludas, who led them down into one of his huge wine cellars beneath the house. There were a great number of people gathered, and Ganry wasted no time in giving them the grave news of what they had seen in the palace. There was an angry murmur in the room when he had finished speaking.
“I knew those witches would be trouble for us one day,” a woman cried out.
“We must save the Emperor,” a man shouted in response.
“Everyone quiet down so we can make some headway.” Ludas stood forward to calm the group. He knew they were all in a state of shock at this dire news.
“Instead of complaining about the witches and the state of our Emperor, we need to come up with ideas. We don’t have a lot of time, we must plan this very day how we are to take our city back. Once we have the Emperor, we should be able to rally the armies to our cause. I can only suspect that General Jeon is part of this plot. It seems he is a bigger fool that I thought. In his quest for power, he has disregarded the love the people of Mirnee have for the royal family. It is a big mistake and it will be his undoing. We must act now to take back the Kingdom from the witches.”
His words brought cheers from the gathered crowd that crammed into Ludas’s cellar. Like many cellars in this part of town, it had passageways that led to the market. They had originally been dug out to provide easy access for goods, but now its use was more urgent. This was how the supporters had arrived and how they would leave, that was, once they had begun their plans.
Ganry watched the crowd of people, pleased to see that they were coming together. They would need to be united if they were to win. Ganry had decided to keep quiet about the army of dead they had seen. They had enough to worry about for now.
12
“We are in agreement then,” Ludas addressed the gathered merchants. “Our first priority is to rescue the Emperor.”
Heads nodded and some individuals confirmed their acknowledgement with a shout of support.
Ganry urged caution. “You don’t really know who your enemy is yet. You have no idea of their strengths and weaknesses. If you go rushing into this, it could end in disaster.”
“You have been gone too long, Ganry,” his uncle said. “Most of us gathered here know exactly who is behind this and what his motives are. This is the work of General Jeon. For far too long he has controlled the armies, and now, just as we feared, he is running the Kingdom too.”
“You could be right, uncle, but you must be sure of what you are up against. You are not trained fighters, you are businessmen. If they were to get wind of what is happening here, they will pick you off one at a time, and your families too. I only ask that you tread with caution. I will not be here to help as I need to return to Palara and warn the Queen. Once I’m sure she’s safe, I will return, and together we can put this Jeon in his place. Surely, if you have waited this long, a few more months until I return won’t hurt.”
Ganry wanted them to wait. He had seen the army of the undead, and these people could not stand against them. He wasn’t even sure how he would. Perhaps Hendon could help?
“We can wait patiently, Ganry, but what of the Emperor? He could be dead by the time you return,” Ludas argued.
Ganry nodded his agreement. Fontleroy was frail, despite his show of defiance to the witch. He really could not last for much longer under those circumstances. For Ganry, this presented him with a personal quandary. He respected the Emperor, who had treated him like a son when he was younger, but his own priorities and loyalty lay with Queen Myriam, and he must ensure her safety.
“Promise me that once you have the Emperor safely away, you will await my return before making a move on Jeon.”
Ganry looked at the people who had gathered in support of their Emperor. They were wealthy merchants, not strategic battle planners. They organized the shipment of goods, they did not know how to kill and defend themselves, although many here had their own mercenary soldiers who protected their trade caravans that crossed between the kingdoms. Many of these mercenaries would be loyal to them and would fight for their cause. He knew this, for he too had been a mercenary, hiring out his sword to the rich merchants, often the same ones, time and time again. This formed a sense of loyalty. A good merchant inspired loyal guards.
“Organize your mercenaries,” he advised the group. “Pay them well. Inform their leaders of your real intentions, as even mercenaries appreciate honesty. Someone will rise to the command, and when I return, I will work with him to end this blight that rules your land.”
The group nodded their approval. Now they needed to decide how to rescue their Emperor and where to hide him while they planned for the next stage.
“Artas,” Ganry turned to his young protégé while the merchants discussed their next move. “You need to go into hiding. I have arranged a safe house for you to stay at. When I have finished here, I will come for you and together we will return to Palara to secure our Queen, and ready our country for the battle ahead.”
“I will stay with you,” Artas insisted. “How can I ever learn if you keep hiding me away?”
“Slowly, that is how you learn. Already you are competent with a sword, more so than when we started our journey.” Ganry laid a supportive hand on Artas’s shoulder and smiled at him kindly. “I will need to move swiftly and want you where I can be sure you are safe. You cannot learn everything at once. Aah, here is your host for the next few nights.”
Artas turned around to see the young woman, Daphne. She smiled at him and he blushed, unsure why.
“Daphne will take you to the baker’s shop and that is where you will wait for me,” Ganry instructed.
“No, Ganry, I cannot sit idly by while you plot and plan this adventure without me,” Artas complained.
“You are to help Daphne deliver her medicines, without getting caught by those witches. Do you think you can do that?”
“Of course, I will guard her with my life,” Artas said, proudly.
“I’ll protect him with my life,” Daphne retorted in a deep, male voice, mimicking her young companion.
Artas blushed, once again. What was it about this girl that kept him constantly embarrassed?
“Besides,” Ganry continued, “if anything were to happen to me, you need to return to Palara alone and warn the Queen.” Ganry looked behind him making sure no one was close by, and he dropped his voice to a whisper. “She needs to know about the army of the undead.”
Artas nodded his understanding. As much as he wanted to help Ganry, the safety of Queen Myriam, his lifelong friend, would always come first.
“The pair of you, take care of each other. I won’t be far behind you, Artas. One, maybe two nights. I want to help organize the plans for the Emperor’s escape, make sure there are experienced soldiers on hand. Then we go, so be ready.”
The two young people left, Daphne leading Artas on their journey through many secret passageways that would lead from this level to the market on the lower levels, where the baker’s shop resided.
13
The next day, the group returned to Ludas’s home to discuss the attempt to release their Emperor. This time, mercenary leaders were present, after word had been sent out following the meeting. Ganry listened to the group as they planned, watching the mercenary leaders closely. They seemed a strong group and he hoped they would be loyal and trustworthy. What these people were planning was dangerous, and if it went wrong, then they would all most certainly die.
Ganry knew that as more people became aware of the plan, then the greater the risks of someone letting it slip. Even worse, it also increased the risk of a traitor in the camp.
“You must act quickly,” he advised them.
“I thought we had agreed that tomorrow night would give us time to pull everything together,” Jed, the tailor spoke up.
“It would be better to go tonight. Every moment you delay, you risk being found out.”
The others in the small merchant group of rebels nodded their agreement. Most just wanted to get this over and done with. They were not fighting men but traders. The sooner they returned to their businesses, the better.
“Is everything in place, if it were brought forward to this evening?” Ludas asked one of the mercenaries.
“We have men in the barracks bribing soldiers, which should make our passage easier. The safe house is ready, but he can only stay there a short while. The city will not be a safe place to keep him in.”
“Right then, tonight it is, if you’re all ready? The sooner we have the Emperor out of that palace, the better,” Ludas announced. “We’ll go through the plan one more time and then we begin, agreed?”
“I must go,” Jed said. “I have an appointment in the palace for a fitting. If I miss it, they’ll be furious.”
The others nodded. Jed left them to finalize the event.
It took a little over an hour to go through the various stages of who was to do what, and where they should be. The plan seemed thorough, and even Ganry was more confident that they could succeed. Now, he was certain they could manage without him, so he readied himself to leave the city. If all went well, by this time tomorrow, the Emperor should be in the safe house.
As Ganry was saying his farewells, the door suddenly burst open and palace soldiers came running into the room. They had been betrayed, just as he had feared. Ganry quickly evaluated the situation and realized they were heavily outnumbered. It was pointless fighting as they would easily be overpowered, killed even. Better to save the fight for a time when the odds were better. He offered no resistance when six soldiers surrounded him, laying down his sword when ordered to do so. Soon, everyone in the room was fastened in chains and led out of the house to the outside.
They were quickly placed into a covered wagon. It seemed the General did not want the citizens of Aelland to see merchants in chains. Not that there was anyone around as it was past the curfew time and the streets were deserted.
“Uncle, keep faith. I will escape and rescue you as soon as I am able,” Ganry whispered into Ludas’s ear, disappointed by the turn of events, but not surprised.
“Do not fear for me, I will not break,” his uncle assured him. “It is the Emperor who we should fear for. He is our priority. I will accept my fate in this, whatever it may be.”
The journey was a brief one and soon they were all led out of the wagon and through the passageway of the palace into the dungeons. They were placed in a huge metal-barred cage together, and their chains removed by the guards before the doors were locked.
The cage already had a resident who was sleeping on one of the many benches placed along the far wall. Riley, one of the mercenary leaders, went to investigate, and he was stunned to see who it was.
There, fast asleep under a thin, dirty blanket, was the Emperor.
Soon, all the prisoners were gathered around the sleeping monarch.
“He looks in a very deep, sleep,” one voice said.
“He’s definitely breathing,” said another, with relief.
Though the merchants spoke in a hushed reverent tone, they were pleased at finding the Emperor alive.
“Can you awaken him, Riley?” Ganry asked the mercenary. Riley appeared wiry, but strong. A pointed beard adorned the bottom of his chin, tied with thin rope. Ganry thought the fashion was dangerous, liable to be grabbed in a scuffle.
“Nay, I think he’s under some sort of spell.”
Riley and Ganry moved away from the merchants to speak quietly together.
“Barely a year ago, I would have refused to believe you, even laughed in your face at the thought of magic,” Ganry said. “But now, after what I’ve seen these past few months, I believe there are many unexplained events and happenings.”
“Damn witches,” Riley spat. “The Emperor was right to ban them. He should have gone further and exiled them all. It is all Jeon’s fault, he wanted the witches as part of his forces. It seems we now know why. He is using them to gain control of Mirnee.”
“No, I think it is more than that.” Ganry remembered the army of the undead that they had seen the other night. “I believe his plans spread beyond the borders of Mirnee.”
“Surely the army is not strong enough to invade our neighbors?”
Ganry decided to share with Riley the strange sights they had witnessed the other night. How it appeared that the witches were gathering a force of what Ganry now believed to be the undead.
“I had heard rumors of dark arts in the Kingdom,” Riley said. “But I would never have believed Jeon to resort to such evilness.”
“I’m beginning to wonder who’s in charge now, Jeon or the witches? I feel the good General may no longer be running the show. He has unleashed a power that he cannot control. I hope we can work together in these dark times. We will all be in need of allies that we can trust.”
Riley held out his hand and gave the secret sign of the blood mercenary group. Ganry responded with the appropriate return gesture. Their budding alliance was struck and sealed. The mercenary code of honor was strong, but Ganry knew that those that fight for gold can be easily swayed, so he vowed to keep a close eye on Riley all the same.
14
The Emperor had aged considerably since his last public appearance, and all the merchants in the cage were visibly shocked. His skin had yellowed and he looked drawn and haggard. Magic must take much out of the body and mind. He started to come around in small stints. Every time his eyes opened, Ganry was by his side.
“I’ve been thinking, Ganry,” he heard his uncle’s voice as he knelt on the floor by his side. “We must have a traitor among us, and I think I know who it may be.”
“You need to be careful of what you say, uncle, this is a serious accusation and you would not want to get it wrong.”
“I know but I feel I am correct in my thinking,” Ludas whispered. “There is one who has not been arrested because he wasn’t there. The tailor, Jed. Remember he left claiming to have another appointment in the palace that he dare not miss. Do you think that it was a simply ploy to get out of the way?”
“It is a thought, uncle, but let’s not presume him guilty until we are more certain. Many who were there the night before were absent today. I feel you should keep these thoughts to yourself for now, until we have more proof of his duplicity.”
“What are you two young ones plotting and planning there?” The Emperor’s frail and shaky voice interrupted their hushed conversation.
“Nestor, my friend,” Ludas said with delight as he went to grab ahold of the Emperor’s frail and bony hands. “It is so good to see you awake.”
The Emperor attempted to sit up. “Yes, I thought it a familiar face and voice that has been by my side all these hours. Ganry, my boy, welcome home.”
Ganry was truly pleased to see the Emperor awake. It had been a long time since he was last by this great man’s side.
“I regret having you exiled, but that was the only way to appease Jeon after the passing of his son. It was either banishment or death, as you know,” the Emperor stated. “I have missed you, boy,”
“I am hardly a boy anymore, my Lord,” Ganry laughed.
“Parents always tell me that their children never seem to grow up in their own eyes and that is how I see you. You will always be a boy in my heart.” The Emperor laid back down as he spoke. He was still very weakened by the magic that had burned through every vein of his being. “Be careful what you say Ganry, I fear I am still under the witch’s influence.”
“You should rest. You need to conserve your strength.” Ganry helped him to lay back down. “You have friends by your side.”
“I fear Jeon has put us together for his own causes and not to allow us to reminisce,” the Emperor said as his breath slowed down and he closed his eyes.
“He has a point there, uncle,” Ganry agreed. “Jeon is up to something. I too, fear it is not simply per chance that we meet the Emperor here.”
“How right you are,” a voice cut across the murmur in the cage.
Ganry stood and turned in the direction of the voice, a voice he knew well. General Jeon was standing at the other side of the metal barred door, a smug smile on his face. He had forgotten how much he hated this man, but it began to well-up, leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He said nothing.
“Nestor can stay with his friends if he simply provides me with the information that I require from him,” Jeon said, as if the task was an easy one.
General Jeon stared at Ganry, and he too felt the swell of hatred. When the commander of the raiding party told him that he had the person he hated most upon this world in his dungeon, his instant thoughts were to have him killed immediately. Yet, that would be too easy. He would love nothing more than to torture this man, over days and weeks, but he did not have the time to stay and enjoy such a pleasure. Not when he was readying for an invasion into Palara.
“The great and gallant Ganry, finally shows his face,” Jeon said with a deep, sardonic tone. “Oh, I have longed to see you again, my old friend. Probably just as much as our Emperor here, but for different reasons. Nestor would welcome you as a returning hero, but I know you for the coward you are. Because of you my son is dead, and I will have my revenge.”
Jeon’s voice was getting louder with every word, until at the end he was shouting out in his rage.
Ganry did not flinch at his words. He had no fear of this man. He was only fearful for the Emperor and his uncle.
“I hear you have a following of witches these days.” Ganry broke the silence of the two men as their eyes locked into one another.
“You know nothing, you upstart. I have the power to kill every man in this room,” Jeon threatened. “But I am merciful and will only be killing you, today.” Still, Ganry did not shift his stance. “It’s a pity I don’t have the time to do it myself,” Jeon continued. “Then again, I have a pretty young Queen to conquer. Already, I have broken the borders of Palara. Oh yes, I hear you have a fondness for the beautiful Myriam. If I remember rightly, she will be about the age of your own daughter, if she was still alive. It hurts to lose a child, don’t you agree?”
“The Queen of Palara has a strong army and strong allies to call upon. She will be ready to deal with any trespassers who attempt to cross her borders.” Ganry’s response was calm and measured, although his blood boiled with rage.
“Ah, but I have a trick or two up my sleeve, Ganry. Once my special forces are deployed, the Palaran army will flee before them, quaking with fear.”
“I have seen your special forces, and it is not you who commands them, Jeon. You allow the witches too much power. Once they have what they want from you, then you too will march in the ranks of the undead.”
General Jeon was momentarily speechless. How could Ganry know of his army of the undead? Perhaps he was bluffing, but he certainly seemed confident in his words.
“Besides, Myriam has someone who is easily a match for your witches, should they dare to cross into Palara. He will send them straight back to the dark hole they were spawned from.”
In truth, Ganry was talking up Hendon’s ability. He was not sure he could deal with the witches, but he wanted to cast doubt in Jeon’s mind to try and delay the invasion.
General Jeon was furious, but Ganry’s words had concerned him. He had heard of the wizard who was loyal to the Queen. Rumor was that she had powerful magics at her disposal, but surely he was only one man. He said nothing, not allowing his enemy any pleasure in knowing he had struck a nerve. He needed to collect his thoughts. He would love nothing better than to give this murderous traitor a long and slow death, but right now, other more important matters required his attention. The boy must be found. Only his blood would suffice for the ritual.
“Your time will come, Ganry. You will pay for the death of my son, of this I promise,” Jeon threatened. “First, I will destroy everything you hold dear, and then I will personally kill you.” With those words the General turned and left, leaving Ganry shaking with rage.
15
Ganry returned to the Emperor who was still awake.
“He’s in Palara with the white wolves,” the Emperor whispered into his ear.
Ganry acted as if the Emperor had said nothing, but now, he knew the child’s whereabouts.
“Rest, old man,” Ganry said, laying his hand on the Emperor’s arms that lay across his chest.
Nestor was tired, so very tired, but now he knew that his son would be in safe hands. He trusted Ganry and had finally shared the information that the treacherous General had wanted so very badly. Now he could truly rest.
Riley covered the Emperor with the blanket. It would give little warmth but Ganry appreciated the gesture and nodded his approval.
“Do you think he’ll survive?” Ludas asked, knowing Ganry could not give such an answer. It was more a rhetorical question.
Ganry looked at his uncle sadly. He could not say, only time would tell. The Emperor had suffered much over the last few months, his body tormented with dark magic to force him to reveal the location of his son. Yet still, he was a strong man, he had not succumbed, and even now there was hope that he could survive.
“I hope so, uncle. He comes from a strong bloodline, there is hope still. But I cannot stay to protect him. I have important matters to attend to in Palara.”
“I understand, you have a new life now, new loyalties, and we must accept that. I am just grateful that I got to see you again.” Ludas looked at his nephew and wished he could change the events of the past.
“My loyalties always lay with my family, uncle, even to my father,” Ganry tried to explain. “But, I have a new Queen, and she needs me.”
“I know, and I do not hold it against you,” Ludas told him truthfully. “We all must go where our heart takes us, and yours lies in Palara now.”
Ludas seated himself next to the sleeping Emperor, perhaps hoping that if he willed it, then the leader would live.
Ganry looked at the two old men. His uncle was weary, and the Emperor hovered on death’s door. He wished he could do more, but he had to concentrate on the child. It was becoming clear to him now that this was much more than a simple coup. Not even a grab for power, by Jeon. Something else motivated him, but what?
Maybe when he found the boy, the answer would be clearer. Jeon must have some idea that he was in Palara for him to be taking the steps to invade. He must make plans of escape, but he could not do that without help. He approached the mercenary, Riley, knowing that he would need his contacts if he was to escape Mirnee.
“Riley, we must speak,” Ganry said to his new acquaintance, praying that he could trust this man.
***
General Jeon sat in the throne room. He had never sat upon the throne and he had no desire to do so. His yearning for power was nothing to do with wealth or control. He needed the witches and their magic. Many years ago, he had agreed to help stop their persecution by the Emperor, and his reward was to be the day they raised his son, Porteus, from the dead. He would not be like those shuffling creatures that are part of the attack on Palara. His son would return as he remembered him. All he needed now, was the Emperor’s child, the royal albino. Only his blood could open the portal and free their Mistress, the witch Thalia. She had been banished from this world by another royal albino, over one thousand years ago. Royal albinos are very rare and it had been over a millennium since the last one. Now, at last, the means to bring back his son was at hand.
When General Jeon had suffered the deep grief from the loss of his only son, the witches had approached him. They made promises that he could be with his son, once again, in this life. Overwrought with his sadness, he had agreed, and had no regrets.
“Sire, he is here,” a voice broke his thoughts.
“Bring him in, quickly,” the General ordered. “I don’t wish him to be seen by anyone.”
The man was brought into the room, though he hid his face under the hood of his cloak.
“I am going to make it easy for you to help Ganry escape from the prison. I must have the Emperor’s boy, and Ganry will lead me to him. The Emperor will have given him the information about the child. Ganry will do everything he can to save it. Just leave messages where you have been instructed to, along the road. I will be following.”
The man bowed his head but said nothing, his face still hidden in the hood.
“That will be all,” the General dismissed him. “You will be given all that you need.”
General Jeon was once again alone with his thoughts. He yearned for the day he and his son would be together again. Was it wrong for a father to love his child enough to do the things he did? Always he questioned himself, but having his son back was all that mattered.
***
Artas was readying himself for an evening of hard work. He had agreed to help Daphne deliver some of her herbal medicines to the sick. She had explained that she only went to those who needed care through the night. Others cared for them during the day. These medicines had to be administered soon after they were concocted, otherwise they would lose their healing power.
“I am a healer, Artas, that is what I do,” she had told him. “That is what I have always done. It is made harder now with the curfew.”
“Why do you suppose the General has imposed this curfew?” he had asked her.
“I see many strange things as I go about my business. I think that whatever they do on an evening, they do not want the people of Aelland to see. Sometimes, I see the witches leading strange apparitions, like the ones we saw the other night.” She shivered at the memory. “You saw them too, you know what I say is true. They have the smell and look of death, yet they walk the streets of Aelland.”
Artas shivered also at the memory of the columns of creatures that smelt of death. He hoped they did not come across them again on their nightly prowl.
As soon as the sun set, Daphne packed the medicines into her bag and they set off into the night. Any thoughts of meeting the creatures was soon forgotten as the night was a glorious one. The moon was full and bright, and the sky alight with millions of stars. Under other circumstances he could think of no better setting to be out with such a pretty girl.
As they arrived at each house, Artas waited outside. Daphne did not wish to startle the ill by explaining she now had a bodyguard. Plus, he could watch out for the witches. On one occasion, he had spotted them passing the end of a long street. Keeping himself in the shadows, Daphne had opened the door to come out of the house. Luckily, he had managed to pull her against the wall, and they let the witch and her Night Shadows pass them by.
He waited outside the last house, glad that the evening was over and they could both go back to safety and off to their beds. As he stood in the shadows, he heard a voice calling him, softly. It sounded like Daphne’s voice, but yet he knew she was still in the home she had entered.
Artas, I need you, come quickly.
Artas tried to ignore it, thinking he was tired and his mind was playing tricks on him, but the voice sang out to him, urging him to come to her.
He turned into a small alleyway, and there she was, at the far end. She seemed to be sheathed in a soft warm glow and she held her arms open, invitingly.
Come my love. Come to me. I am in need of a brave knight…
The voice was beautiful and so was the speaker. He could see now that it was not Daphne, but a beautiful woman with long flowing silver hair, dressed in a long silver gown.
I have an errand for you, my love, an errand of love. I will reward you well…
“Artas!” someone shouted his name loudly. Was that Daphne’s voice?
He looked around to see the shape of a figure, standing at the entrance of the alleyway that he had just entered. When he turned back to look at the beautiful woman, she was gone.
“Artas, why are you here? You are supposed to be keeping watch!” Daphne asked him angrily.
Artas was confused for a moment. Where had his love gone?
“Come on, we are finished. It’s time to return,” Daphne said as she took ahold of his arm, dragging him out of the dark, spooky alleyway. “Some bodyguard you turn out to be,” she mumbled as she finally got him to turn around. For a few moments he seemed distracted, confused even. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a red flash in his eyes, but it was soon gone. Once again, she thought to herself, her imagination was getting the better of her. “Time we got back. I think we both need to get some sleep.”
16
“You have to help me, we have to free Ganry,” Artas pleaded with Daphne.
“I think rescuing the Emperor is more important,” she replied.
They had been arguing over this for most of the day and Artas was becoming frustrated at her stubbornness.
“How many times do I have to explain it to you. If Ganry is free, he will see to the rest. He is the key to our success.”
“So you keep telling me.” Daphne was equally frustrated at Artas’s insistence that they should rescue the grizzled warrior. “I don’t know him, but I do know my Emperor, and he is far more important than any soldier.”
“Fine.” Artas threw his hands up in the air and stood up, turning his back on the girl. “You go your way and I’ll go mine. If we cannot work this out together then we must part ways.”
“If that’s how it has to be, then so be it.” she said, not wishing to communicate with this pompous young man any further.
Throughout the day they stayed apart from each other, both preparing for their missions that very night. At one point, Daphne, trying to make some kind of peace, went in search of Artas but he was nowhere to be seen. Just before nightfall she spotted him, packing his backpack with rope and climbing implements.
“Where have you been all day?” she asked, not really caring if he answered or not.
“Mind your own business,” was his curt response.
“Fine, go get yourself captured or maybe even killed. See if I care,” Daphne said, storming off.
Artas set off that very evening. Although he was getting used to moving about this community in the dark, it still took him longer than he would have hoped to find the apple orchard. This was his way onto the Palace level. Once in the grounds, he needed to find the stables.
He was feeling pretty nervous and jumpy at every unexpected noise, sometimes thinking he could see shapes in the shadows, but when he looked closer there was nothing. By this point he was wishing he could have convinced Daphne to come with him. He regretted being rude to her but the truth was he couldn’t remember where he had gone earlier that day. It was like most of the day was a blank in his mind. He remembered being out in the market, but the next thing he knew, he was back in the bakery. All the hours in between were a blank and he had no idea why.
Unbeknownst to him, Daphne was following in his footsteps, having decided it would be better to work with him, but without his knowledge. She watched his back as that would be more useful than them arguing constantly, had they tried to work together. Besides, he would no doubt need rescuing at some point. She smiled to herself as she watched him wander around the streets, more often than not taking the wrong turn. It was nothing short of a miracle when he eventually found the apple orchard. Once he disappeared over the wall, she gave him a few minutes before following.
It was going to be a long evening. Artas knew he had to get through all the secret tunnels that crisscrossed this building. If he wasn’t careful, he could easily get lost and spend the rest of his life wandering around this damn palace. He had to free Ganry tonight, and they needed to finish this quest as quickly as possible. That way, this whole thing might be ended so life can return back to normal, not that he can remember what normal felt like.
In the last few years, he had lost his parents to the usurper, Duke Harald. Also, during the coup, he had seen good men killed when they had gone on a mission to find the dragons. While he had become injured, at least he still had his life, which was more than his friends had. It was because of this injury that he had been left behind as Regent when Myriam had gone to rescue her grandmother from the plains of Vandemland. Now, one of the borders was threatened by Mirnee, and he would do anything to make this problem disappear. After all, the problems of the leader of Mirnee were not the problems of Queen Myriam of Palara.
Luck was with him this night. For once, he was doing all the right things and he soon found himself standing outside the dungeon gates. Perhaps he had some special link with Ganry because they were such good friends. No matter, the main thing was all the pathways were clear and he could use stealth.
As he stood by the metal grid in a stone wall, he could hear a number of people making low wailing noises, pitiful and desperate. The sound sent shivers up and down his spine and spooked him even more than he already was.
Looking through the metal bars, he saw two guards sitting at a table, both slumped forward. The rhythm of their breathing was of someone in a heavy slumber. Pushing slowly on the gate, he was amazed to feel the doors give way. He stepped quietly into the darkened room. His luck really was with him tonight, as on the table lay a set of keys.
Quietly, he approached the guards, who seemed to have fallen asleep while playing a dice game. He picked up the keys and walked the passageways, seeking Ganry. Something niggled him in the back of his mind. This was all going so easy. Still, he pushed aside the warning bells and moved deeper into the darkness.
“Artas, over here!” a voice whispered loudly in the dark. “You are a welcome sight, but I am surprised to see you walking the corridors of the dungeons.”
“I’ve even got these.” Artas dangled the keys in front of him, feeling pleased with himself. He quickly unlocked the barred door of the cage that Ganry was imprisoned within.
“We must go quickly, the guards are asleep but I doubt they will be for much longer,” Artas quickly informed him.
“Ganry, you must go alone,” Ludas said as he approached them. “We cannot risk you getting caught. The boy is important, go find him.”
Ganry nodded his agreement. He had more chance of escape if there were fewer of them. He called over to Riley, who joined them, ready to make his escape too.
In no time, the keys were back on the table and the three men were on their escape route out of the palace, and out of the town.
All the while, Daphne had been watching from the shadows as the men made their leave. She waited a few moments before making her own move. The guards still slept and she took the keys and entered the cell.
Ludas, fearing the worst when the door opened again, was surprised but pleased to see Daphne. After listening to her plan of escape, this time he agreed to go with her. If they were caught, at least they had nothing to lose. One of the larger mercenary soldiers picked up the Emperor’s frail body, carrying him in his arms as easily as if he were a small child. It was agreed that many would stay behind so there were still people in the cell. With strategically placed covers on the beds, as if many were sleeping, the cell could probably pass a brief glance.
***
“Is it done?” General Jeon asked the witch who was intently staring into a pool of simmering green liquid with a swirling green cloud hanging above it.
“It is General, although not quite as planned. They have gone in separate groups, but both the man Ganry, and the Emperor, are out of the dungeon,” she replied, still concentrating on the pool.
“Good,” he breathed a sigh of relief. “Now we can arrange for the Emperor’s death and blame his rescuers. See to it, as I will be leaving the city. I intend to follow those cutthroat mercenaries. They will lead me straight to the boy. Once I have him, then I want my own boy back. You have delayed long enough with your promises, witch.”
“Our agreement was the delivery of the albino boy, General. Once we have the Albino then you will have your son.”
“Still, with the death of the Emperor, it would make it easy for you to rule. Keeping him alive only complicates matters for when you take the throne.”
“We have no use of a throne. Our power is in the magic, not some weak figurehead. Our leader does not sit upon golden thrones.”
Jeon did not bother to reply. Whether or not the Emperor lived or died was of no concern to him either. A few years back, it would have been so different. But now, the loss of his son and the way the Emperor had favored Ganry over him had left him bitter. But keeping the Emperor alive could be problematic. If the people had a figurehead to get behind, they may revolt. Still, who ruled Mirnee was of little interest. Once he had his son alive again, he intended on getting as far away as possible from this place and taking his dear child with him so they could start a new life.
17
Using Riley’s local knowledge, they hid out for the first night in one of the mercenary camps that were dotted about the countryside. The next day, Riley left to arrange their passage to Palara. He knew a few captains, he told them, who owed him favors.
Ganry was still unsure about Riley. He had really wanted to accompany him today, but he had insisted on going alone. Despite his growing suspicions, Ganry realized that it made sense. It would be easier for Riley to move around the town by himself.
“He’s been gone a while,” Artas said, noticing that Ganry kept watch on the camp entrance. “Do you trust him?”
“I don’t know. Our escape was far too easy, it was almost as if they wanted us to leave.”
Artas did not reply, but nodded at Ganry. He too had felt that something was wrong. Something malevolent hung over them. He himself was sleeping badly and only last night, he awoke to find himself outside the camp gates. Sleepwalking was a problem he had never had before.
Just then the gates opened and Riley returned. Spotting Ganry and Artas, he made straight for them.
“I have arranged our passage for tomorrow on the ship, The Flying Lady. I know the captain well. We will leave before dawn, so I suggest we turn in early tonight.”
***
It was another restless night for Artas, his dreams filled with dark shadows and red glowing eyes that stared at him. Once again, he awoke in the woods outside camp. How he had gotten there was a mystery. The stress of everything must be getting to him, he told himself, before making his way back.
As he quietly walked across the camp, he was unaware that he wasn’t the only one awake. Someone was watching him intently as he made his way back to his bed.
***
It was still dark as they made their way through the market area towards the docks where their ship awaited them the next morning. Despite the early hour of the day, the dock was buzzing with people going about their business. Fishermen readying their nets for the day’s catch, other boats loading freight for delivering to far flung places around the globe.
They had met no one on their way here and once again Ganry’s suspicions were raised. His intuition still told him that something was not right, but his need to return to Palara as quickly as possible was paramount. He pushed his fears to the back of his mind, but kept his sword close and the edge honed. The sea route, while being the longest, would be the quickest and least problematic. Especially with the Mirnee Army occupying the borderland to Palara.
They found their ship, The Flying Lady, and Riley introduced Ganry to the Captain.
“Captain Quint, at your service, gentlemen. Welcome aboard.” The Captain had a face full of bushy whiskers and a large pot belly, which he rested his hands on. “Now I don’t mean to rush you, but the sooner we’re out at sea, the better I’ll feel.”
Ganry nodded his agreement and the Captain barked out orders to his men. Soon the ship was gently sailing out of the harbor. Sails were hoisted and the ship picked up speed as it swiftly plowed effortlessly through the waves. Ganry could see why she was called The Flying Lady.
“Fastest in Mirnee,” the Captain interrupted Ganry’s thoughts. “We can outrun any of the Mirnee or Palaran Navy ships.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to do anything like that,” Ganry replied to the Captain’s boasting, though he was pleased that they traveled in such a swift vessel.
They made good time, and at this rate of speed they could be back in Palara by nightfall tomorrow.
It came as some surprise when the vessel suddenly slowed. Ganry made his way up deck to find the sails had been dropped, and they were sitting still in the water. Over on the bow, he spotted the Captain talking with Riley. Captain Quint was scanning the sea with his telescope.
“Problem, Captain?” Ganry queried.
He said nothing in reply, just passed over the telescope. Looking out to sea with the instrument, Ganry could see a number of ships on the horizon. They were coming towards them. Looking at the masts, he could see they flew the Palaran flag.
“Ah, it seems that we will be leaving you sooner than expected, Captain,” he noted, assuming they had come to greet him and his party.
No sooner had Ganry spoken than he could see several arrows flying from the leading ship. A few seconds later and the water in front suddenly erupted, as the arrows crashed into the waves. Fortunately, they had not yet come close enough, but the next ones could be on target.
“Quickly, Captain, do you carry any Palaran colors?”
“We do indeed, sir, we have many flags,” the Captain replied with a sly smile. “In my business, sir, we ‘ave to be careful. Never know who ya might be upsetting. You could call us the sea mercenaries, ready for all occasions.”
Ganry was still not sure it would work, but they quickly raised the Palaran flag and watched closely as the Palaran warships approached. It seemed to have done the trick, as no more warning shots were fired.
The Captain watched nervously as the four Palaran ships surrounded him. His personal option would be to sail off at speed. These ships would be no match for The Flying Lady. But he must see if his passengers could sort this out between them. The largest of the ships, recognized by Ganry as the Admiral’s flag ship, pulled up beside them.
“Who be Captain of this vessel?” a voice shouted over from the Palaran side.
“We wish to speak with Admiral Bingham,” Ganry shouted back. “This is Queen Myriam’s personal bodyguard, Ganry de Rosenthorn. Cease this attack immediately, by orders of the Queen.”
There was no reply but Ganry could see the movement of men as the ships bobbed up and down, side by side. Luckily the skies were blue and seas were calm.
“This is Commander Patterson, may I board your vessel, Ganry de Rosenthorn?”
Ganry looked at his Captain, who nodded agreement.
Within the hour, Commander Patterson had come over by rowboat, and was being shown to Ganry in the Captain’s cabin so they could talk in private.
“What has happened in Palara that the Admiral’s fleet is attacking those at sea?” Ganry asked.
“That’s just it, Ganry, I don’t know,” Patterson replied, looking puzzled. “The Admiral has gone mad, I am sure of it. He ordered us to attack you. He was ranting and raving, even when we saw the Palaran flag, he wouldn’t have any of it. It was his intention to sink you. I felt I had no choice but to relieve him of his duties and have him locked in his cabin. He’s been acting strange for weeks. Forced us to sail out of Port Brammanville, leaving it without any protection. I sent word for the rest of the fleet to return as soon as we were well away. I’ve no idea what has gotten into him.”
“That is a brave move commander. The price to pay for mutiny is death. Personally, I am pleased you have taken the risk, or we might all be languishing at the bottom of the sea right now.”
“I’m well aware of the risk, but I feel I have acted in the best interest of the fleet and my country, and stand by my decision,” Patterson responded, defiantly.
“Of course, Commander. I will speak to the Queen on your behalf. She will know of the service you have done this day for our nation. You say you ordered the return of the rest of the fleet to protect the port?” Ganry worried this was all part of the border attacks.
“Aye, I did. The Admiral thinks them all at sea, but there’s only the four that you see. In his delusional state he never noticed that the rest were not with us. I needed him to think we were following his orders so I could gain his confidence and determine the reason for this folly. Trouble is, he acts like a man possessed. He is not the Admiral that I know and respect.”
“Your words may be truer than you think, Commander. Mirnee has witches influencing its leadership. The Emperor is imprisoned. It is undoubtedly those who have bewitched the Admiral to this treachery.” Ganry smiled at him. “They’ll have been sorely disappointed that their plans have gone awry and Port Brammanville remains protected. Well done, Commander, you have done your Queen a great service.”
Patterson could not find it in within himself to give Ganry a smile of appreciation. He had been living on his nerves for weeks, but he did allow himself a long sigh of relief.
“This is good news to my ears. It has been a vexing time. We will return with you, if you don’t mind four naval vessels for company.”
“The quicker we get back, the better.”
They were soon on their way again, making good time. Ganry worried for the Admiral. It seemed clear to him now that the witches must have possessed him when he was out on patrol. He recalled the strange meeting, out at sea, on their way to Mirnee. Thanks to a quick thinking Commander, their plan had been thwarted. He must mention this to Myriam. She would wish to reward Commander Patterson.
From the distance, he could see Port Brammanville, home at last. Another day and he should be within the castle walls.
18
When Ganry finally met up with Myriam, his report of an army of dead did not come as any surprise to her. She informed him that her soldiers were already engaged in fighting the strange creatures on the border. She had told Ganry that a couple of villages had already been attacked.
“Tell me then, what is this border nonsense all about, and why did the Admiral wish to leave my main port unprotected?”
“General Jeon rules Mirnee now with the help of the witches. I’m not sure what his part in all of this is. He never seemed the type who lusted after power, but I suppose time and tragedy can change a man. It seems they are searching for the Emperor’s child and are going to great lengths to find him. I am not sure why, or what role he plays in this. He is only a young boy of eight years.”
“Do we know where he is?”
“I’m afraid he’s been hidden in your Kingdom, my Queen. In the territory of the wolves.”
“So why does a cultured nation, such as Mirnee, allow the dark arts to be practiced so freely?” Myriam knew there was more to it than a simple coup.
“My own memories are of the Emperor banning witches from using magic. Most people did not really believe that they had any real magic skill anyway, just sleight of hand and simple mind tricks. The Emperor’s decree kept them quiet for many years. There is an old legend in Mirnee that the Queen witch, Thalia, was banished by some ancient ritual, by a descendant of the Emperor’s. Many thought it just a myth, a fairy story. Maybe it has something to do with this.”
“But why are they threatening my borders?”
“I can only assume they know the boy is in Palara, but not his exact whereabouts.”
“Then you must continue your quest, Ganry, and find this child,” Myriam said. “I have met the Emperor of Mirnee a few times, and he always seemed a kindly leader to me. Perhaps if we return his son, he can once again rule over Mirnee and bring peace to our nations?”
“I can’t say,” Ganry mumbled. “But we need to do something. They are raising the dead for their own evil means.”
“Yes, we already know this to our cost. Many of our villages on the border have been ravaged by these creatures,” Myriam told him, with a heavy heart. “It’s terrible, Ganry. They have to have their heads removed, and only then will they stop walking. The villages are filled with the bonfires of the dead.”
“I think you should request Hendon’s help,” Ganry suggested.
“Yes, yes, he was the first one who came to my mind as well. Are you sure you don’t want him to go with you and Artas?”
“No, I think he’s had enough foreign adventures but he will help protect the kingdom, of that I am certain.”
“Who do you take with you then?”
“I have a seasoned mercenary, Riley, plus Artas. We will take a small number of your best soldiers, those who are veterans of battle and won’t run from the dead. I will need steady men for entering the Wolf territory. We will enter in peace, to request the help of the alphas,” Ganry explained.
“I will give you my ring again, so you can show them it is the D’Anjue seal that takes you on your mission. This may help. They are depicted in the D’Anjue mural, the wolf people, so there is some past connection with my family. Be careful, they are a strange race who have the ability to shape shift into animals. I have never met any of them as they tend to keep to themselves, but I believe my Grandmother has.”
Myriam’s face lit up as she remembered another matter. “While we are on the subject, some good news! Grandmother and I have successfully begun the expedition for the family mural, built of stone in the basement of Castle Locke. It is to be brought here to the royal castle. This is to be the new home to the D’Anjue heritage.”
“Well, that will keep the stonemasons busy for a while,” Ganry smiled, knowing how important it was to Myriam and her grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue. It had helped them to predict where the last Berghein family stone had been hidden and had been a focal point for the D’Anjue bloodline, helping them remain strong during the coup of Duke Harald. Who knows what other secrets they may find of the hand carved stones.
“I know, Ganry, that you don’t care for the magic of ancestral stones,” Myriam smiled back at him.
Ganry stood to leave the breakfast table, ignoring her remark. He was no longer certain of his skepticism regarding magic, not after all he had seen recently.
“I have much to do, my Queen,” he said.
“Of course, Ganry, and take all that you need.” She also stood to say her own goodbyes.
She approached the muscular warrior and hugged him, “As always, Ganry, please take care of yourself. This country needs you. Take care of Artas, too. I have hardly seen him. Since your return, all he seems to do is sleep.”
“We had quite the adventure going to Mirnee, and he is still young. One day, my Queen, he will replace me. With the aches and pains I feel in my body these days, I don’t think that day is far away.”
They laughed together, two old friends, one a queen, the other her bodyguard, worlds apart socially, but as close as good friends can be.
19
By the next day, Ganry, Artas, and Riley, along with a small army of twenty seasoned soldiers, set off on horseback to travel across the Kingdom of Palara to the wolf territory of Slohal Prairie. This was one of the things Ganry loved about this Kingdom: its strange and diverse residents. He had heard the rumors about the Wolf people, of how they could shape change into an animal at will. They reminded him of Perseus, who could shape-shift into a huge snake. He shivered involuntarily.
Slohal Prairie and was known for its beauty. Whilst most of the Prairie was open space, woodlands and hilly crags were scattered throughout. These pockets of greenery were the places where the prairie people had made their homes. They used the stones and trees to create small shelters, but they also lived in subterranean dens.
Mostly, the Wolf people live in small packs, usually with one male as leader, and a number of females who care for the young. No one really knows if these people are of human origin, but it is said that they are capable of shape changing into a huge wolves. They were not the only shape changing creatures that lived in these lands. Legend has it there were bears too. The shape changing bears lived in the mountainous region on Mount Arrid, the other side of Slohal Prairie.
The two races lived side by side, peacefully. Mount Arrid, on the border of Palara, is considered impenetrable, not only because of the impassable mountain peaks, but the bears are formidable border guards. They will let no one pass. This was one border that Queen Myriam did not have to concern herself with.
As the men rode along the cliff top pathway, Ganry looked out to sea, watching the waves crashing up against the rugged rock face. The pounding sounds of the sea always soothed his thoughts. Riley came up to ride by his side. It was clear from the look on his face that he wanted to speak with Ganry.
“Do you believe Artas to be fit enough for this journey?”
Ganry glanced behind him without stopping his grey speckled horse. Artas looked as if he was sleeping, with his eyes open. It was true, Artas had been acting rather strange as of late, but he had assumed it was exhaustion from the fast journey they had taken back from Mirnee. After all, he was not a seasoned warrior, just yet.
“You lead, I’ll go speak with him.” Ganry turned his horse to ride towards the young man.
“Artas, my friend, you look like you’re about to fall from that saddle. What ails you?” Ganry joked, trying to keep the mood light.
Above, the white gulls squawked as they flapped their wings overhead, diving into the water to capture a fish or two. The tide was in, so sea spray occasionally splashed over the top of the cliffs as the waves crashed their way into the land. Ganry breathed in the salty aroma, wondering why Artas did not reply to his question. He leaned over to give him a little nudge on his shoulder, causing Artas to jolt awake.
“How do you do that?” Ganry asked. “I know no one who can sleep on a horse with their eyes open.”
“Was I sleeping?” Artas said, surprise in his tone. “I don’t think so, Ganry.”
“Do you feel tired?”
“No. I feel lightheaded, if truth be known. Surely this is not reason enough to send me back?” he asked, worrying this would be Ganry’s course of action.
“You sure?” Ganry was puzzled, thinking that maybe he had picked up some illness from Mirnee.
“I am fine. I’m just not sleeping too well. A few days out on the road and I will be better. Don’t send me back, please,” he pleaded, his blue eyes now alert and awakened.
“We are up against witches, Artas,” Ganry reminded him. “Powerful witches who can raise the dead. We are also facing shape changers, who, whilst they may swear fealty to our Queen, do not particularly like the company of humans. You tell me, are you up to it?”
“I’ve always wanted to go to the land of the shape changers since I first heard about them in my lessons. I long to meet them.”
“I want you to get a good night’s sleep, there are enough of us for guard duty. Then in the morning, I want you up at the crack of dawn for practice.” Ganry was determined that Artas would take care of himself in a fight, for he would not have time to look out for him.
“Yes, sir,” Artas replied, a smile to his eyes. It was clear he was glad to be continuing on the journey, but Ganry would make him pull his weight.
“Make yourself useful when we stop and help the men set up camp. There is wood to be gathered for the fires and water to be drawn.”
“Yes, sir,” was all Artas replied.
“And stop calling me sir,” Ganry grumbled as he turned his horse to ride to the rear end of the party. He would talk with the Sergeant, make sure Artas was given the same instructions as the rest of the soldiers. He would request the medic who was riding with them to keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn’t ill. Something was making him tired, and it wasn’t from hard work. If he did some manual labor, then perhaps he’d sleep well this night and ride better in his saddle during the day, without looking as if he were going to fall off it.
20
Artas continued to play his part, contributing where he was instructed. Although he slept deeply at night, he was still so very tired all the time. The medic had confirmed there was nothing physically wrong with him, so Ganry had no real reason to send him back, not that he wanted to. He knew that sending him back would do nothing but harm to Artas’s reputation, and that served no purpose. Ganry just hoped that in time, Artas would shrug off whatever it was that ailed him.
After a few uneventful days of traveling through Palara, they were nearing the Slohal Prairie. The route took them past a huge stretch of water, Lake Gomaran, and Ganry felt it a good place to camp. The lake waters would allow them the luxury of bathing, something they had not been able to do since they set off.
Camp was soon set up and food cooking on fires. Most of the men bathed in the lake, grateful to be washing away days of road grime. The atmosphere in the camp was relaxed and jovial, with good food and even a little wine. Soon, they were settling into their bedrolls for the night. Most had been apprehensive about their quest, having heard they were to enter the wolf territory. None had ever been there before. Tonight, what lay before them concerned no one. They were happy to be clean, well fed and relaxed. Guard duty was light with only two men at a time on night watch.
Even Ganry, for the first time since he had returned to Palara, felt at ease and was soon fast asleep. Though as always with Ganry, his senses, tuning in for any dangers, remained alert, even when he slept. He felt nothing could threaten them here. They were still well inside Palara’s borders.
The night watch walked the perimeter every hour, starting at the same point together and going in opposite directions before ending back up at the point they had started from. They had just returned from a perimeter check, and it was almost time to be relieved by the next Watch. Sitting down with their backs to the lake, one of them pulled out his pouch of tobacco and filled his pipe. Alighting it to share, they sat quietly chatting, unwinding for their turn to sleep.
The lake was large enough to create its own tide, and the shore line lapped by the gentle ripples of movement in the water, lulling the guards into a relaxed state.
They were so deeply engrossed in their shared smoke, that neither of them heard the sounds of footsteps emerging from the water. Shadowy figures approached them, unseen, from the lake.
Suddenly, looming over them were a large number of creatures, dripping wet. Too late, they realized the danger, as one of the creatures grappled with a guard before biting deeply into his neck. The soldier screamed in agony as his life’s blood spurted from the huge gaping wound. The other soldier, terrified at the sight of what looked like dead men walking, was frozen to the spot with fear. In no time, he was completely overcome by a number of the creatures who ripped and bit at his exposed skin.
The screams from the last dying soldiers alerted the others in the camp, and soon everyone was on their feet, swords in hands.
Ganry, instantly upon hearing the scream, leapt out of his bedroll, WindStorm ready for the attack. Even he gasped at the sight that unfolded in front of him. By the dim light of the campfire he could see the creatures attacking his men. They were same as the undead he had witnessed in Mirnee, with grey, colorless skin, hanging in tatters to show exposed bones. Wide eyes, bloodshot and lifeless. On the floor lay two of his men, what was left of them, their ravaged bodies surrounded by the creatures who seemed to be feeding on their flesh.
One among them still slept despite the carnage. Artas was in a deep dream, a beautiful woman dancing provocatively before him. As he tried to approach her, she seemed constantly out of range. He started to run, to catch her up, but she was always just out of reach. In the back of his mind he could hear the sounds of battle, but whenever he tried to concentrate on them, the beautiful woman came close enough to touch. Then, when he reached out to touch her, she was gone again. Looking around, whichever way he turned his head, all he saw was the dancing woman. What was she hiding from him? He knew something was happening. He was needed, but he could not break this mesmerizing spell radiating from the woman of beauty before him.
There was no clanging of swords, for the dead did not parry with weapons. They simply used their hands and teeth. This was an army without command and also without feeling. The dead were not scared, they felt no horror or fear. They simply had a constant hunger, a hunger to feed on the living as if that might impart on them some of the life they had lost. They continued to swarm out of the lake, and soon the soldiers were surrounded by ungodly bodies of putrefaction.
In unison, they all opened their mouths unnaturally wide, gaping dark pits that filled even the bravest of soldiers with fear. A high pitched wail, deafening to the living, emanated from their gaping mouths, transfixing everyone where they stood. Unable to move, even to raise their swords in defense, the creatures advanced slowly on the defenseless men.
Ganry, using all his willpower, forced his mind to cut out the deafening screech. Once he fought off the paralysis, he barked out orders. “Their heads, cut off their heads, it’s the only way!”
His words spurred on the rest of his men, the spell broken by his rallying cry. Soon all were attacking the undead creatures, swinging their weapons down in an arc, detaching heads from bodies. Though the dead outnumbered the living by ten to one, it did not take long for the soldiers to work their way through them. They were cumbersome in movement, slow and ungainly. They offered no defense when attacked, instead just moving relentlessly forward. By the end, a few of the troops were injured, but thankfully no others were lost.
The soldiers left standing gathered the dead together in a pile and set them alight. The flames burned a bright orange and blue, unlike any flame they had seen before. After what they had witnessed this evening, nothing surprised them. Everyone gathered around the pyre, watching as the creatures burned, which they did so remarkably easily. Covering their mouths and noses against the stench, the heap of bodies was nothing more than a pile of ashes in no time.
Ganry, satisfied they were safe for now, looked for Riley to plan their next move, but he was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Artas. He quickly went to Artas’s tent and there he also found Riley, leaning over the young nobleman.
“He has slept through the whole event,” Riley said, confusion on his face. “I’m not even sure he sleeps, but yet still he breathes.”
Ganry bent down to inspect Artas. Not only did the he sleep deeply, he slept with his eyes open. He spoke his name and roughly shook him. “Artas, come on, wake up you lazy dog.”
Artas’s eyes slowly shut. He brought up his hand to rub them. When he opened them again, he was finally awake.
“Ganry, I had the strangest of dreams. What is happening to me?”
“I don’t know, boy, the world has gone crazy,” Ganry said, sighing with relief that he was conscious. Just for a moment there, he thought he might not ever waken. “One thing I do know, wherever those dead are, the witches aren’t far away. That means they have infiltrated the border to get this far. You can bet that General Jeon is among them. It’s time for us to be moving. Refresh yourself, Artas, we’re riding out.”
21
The incident by the lake had unsettled everyone’s nerves. With the horses jittery and the men constantly on alert, all jumped at every unexpected sound. They rode along in silence, only the beat of the horses hooves could be heard, each man staring stoically ahead. No one had ever faced fighting a walking corpse before and many of the men were still in shock.
Ganry was silent, deep in his own thoughts. He pondered on how the General knew his location, because surely he must? That attack was not a random event, of this he was sure. He was surprised that the General was so close to him, so soon. They needed to increase their urgency and find the child as quickly as possible.
If Jeon was somehow keeping tabs on him, then it seemed likely to Ganry that they had a traitor in the camp, but who? Was it was Riley? Perhaps it was. He hardly knew the man and yet he had been willing to trust him. If it was Riley, how was he passing information on? He never seemed to go missing. Whenever Ganry had looked for him he was always close by.
Finally, early the next day they arrived on the border of the Slohal Prairie. It was easy to know when you arrived as the whole terrain changed drastically. They were now surrounded by a flat, featureless land for miles around. Ganry had never been here before, few humans had. The Wolves protected their privacy and uninvited guests were not welcome. There existed a few maps of the area and Ganry looked at one with Riley, determining the direction they needed to go.
“According to this, Ganry,” Riley said, pointing at the map, “we have to go much further into the prairie before we find the rocky crags where the wolves make their dens.”
“Then it’s best we start straightaway. Give the men an hour, and then we move off.”
Riley nodded his agreement and returned to the men with the new instructions.
After a brief rest they mounted up again, moving deeper into the Slohal Plains. Ganry kept a close eye on Riley. He had to know if he was the traitor. It would be disappointing if he was. Ganry had a growing respect for the mercenary. He was brave and fought well, a good ally to have by your side. But, for the General to know their location, someone had to be passing him information. Other than Riley, all the rest of his men he knew personally, and he trusted them all.
They rode throughout the day, only stopping briefly to rest the horses at the occasional water well along the way. At nightfall, they crossed a river and Ganry decided it a good place to rest for the night. He would have personally preferred to continue until they reached their destination, but it had been a long hard day, especially after the horrors of the night before. The men needed to rest.
The soldiers were grateful to be stopping, but they were nervous of the water. No one took the opportunity to bathe as they all watched the river warily. Ganry had increased the night watch duty to six men. They were not going to get caught out again.
He looked over at Artas who was already wrapped up and sleeping in his bedroll. What was with him? He had never behaved like this before. He would ask a shaman of the wolves to look at him when they finally met them. The wolf shamans were legendary as healers. There was nothing Ganry could do tonight, so an early night was a good idea. Soon the camp echoed with the snores of sleeping soldiers.
Riley had been stationed on night duty, and he sat looking up at the clear half silver moon when something rustled in a nearby hedge. He stood up to approach the bush, but two red eyes shone back at him. The deep guttural growling noise coming from the bush told him that they had met the wolves, at last. The low growls woke the men who, after the previous day’s experience, were all keenly alert. They knew that Ganry was seeking the wolves. Well, it seemed that the wolves had found him first.
Ganry walked over to the edge of camp and called out to the wolves that had come closer and made themselves seen. He was struck by the sheer size of them, much bigger than any he had ever seen before. They were huge, with thick fur coats and teeth which seemed unnaturally large. The eyes of each wolf shone and glimmered in the darkness, reds, golds, silvers, all reflecting from the eyes that watched the men.
“My name is Ganry de Rosenthorn,” he said loudly so the wolves would hear his words. He knew they understood him, for these were not just any wolves, but men too. “I come on your lands as an emissary for Queen Myriam. I need to speak with the alpha. I am here on a mission of great urgency.”
As he finished speaking, the wolves could be heard to howl in unison. Then, by a large tree behind the pack, the silhouette of a man could be seen approaching them.
“I am Blaez, and I bid you welcome to the lands of the wolves, Ganry de Rosenthorn. I am Captain of this unit and we are the border guards. Before I can take you further into our lands, do you have any authentication of who you are?”
The man was clearly a warrior, with heavy muscles that moved with an easy grace. He was huge in height and easily towered over Ganry. Though Ganry felt no fear of any man, he would not wish to do battle with the Captain of the border guards. The hair on his head was long, thick and wavy, hanging loosely around his broad shoulders. Surprisingly, there were no signs of hair on the Captain’s body. Instead, where his skin was exposed, it was tanned and slick, shining in the moonlight.
“I have the Queen’s ring, this is proof of my mission,” Ganry said, producing the large ring with the stamp of the Palaran flag, depicting a golden eagle flying over water.
Blaez nodded his agreement as he recognized the insignia.
“We are wary of strangers at the moment, more so than usual,” Blaez explained. “There have been reports of strange men on our borders, and they are not Palaran. Do you know of them, Ganry de Rosenthorn?”
“I do, Captain, as we have also been in conflict with them on another border. First, I will need to speak to the territorial alpha. My need is urgent, but also secretive. You must understand my caution.”
“If these strange events are connected, then the sooner you speak with Raff, our leader, the better, so we can deal with whatever you bring to our lands.”
Ganry felt a pang of guilt, even though it wasn’t their fault that they had brought the undead here. They would have come eventually.
“Shall I stir the men ready to leave?” his own army commander asked of him.
“No, I will go alone for now,” Ganry replied, and followed the large wolf man into the dark.
22
The wolves that remained surrounded the soldiers. They were wary of strangers and didn’t want them wandering around freely, not until they were certain they could be trusted.
“I hope they’re on our side,” one of the soldiers remarked to Riley as he sat watching the beasts, circling their group.
“They are fascinating, don’t you think?” Riley replied, but more to himself.
“I might say that, once I’m out of here and I’m recalling the memory to my children,” the soldier, known as Ben, said nervously. “But, right now I would say I am terrified, rather than fascinated.”
“I think they are not our enemy,” Riley tried to reassure him. “I think if they meant us harm, they would have done so by now.”
Riley spoke to the man without taking his eyes off the patrolling wolves. He thought them beautiful. To think they had human form, made them a true wonder of nature. As they spoke, a curious wolf approached them, sniffing the air before it.
“Hey there,” he said, in a calm voice. It seemed the wolf was as curious about him as he was about them.
The wolf walked slowly around him, constantly smelling at the air, occasionally the ground, too. After a full circle, the wolf was back in front of him, staring intently. Riley had a sudden feeling that this was a female. Its features seemed softer than some of the others, and it was smaller too. He reached out his hand to stroke the long fur, but the wolf stepped back, growling low and showing its teeth. He sensed no threat in its eyes, and in fact, they seemed almost amused.
Then a big wolf came close by and growled at her. She turned to leave, but not before squatting down and urinating on the ground close to Riley. She then trotted off, only looking back once, and Riley swore to himself she had a smile on her face. It seemed that she might be a young and rebellious wolf, and the older one had come to reprimand her.
That set his thoughts to Artas, and he stood up to go and find out where and what Ganry’s young protégé was up to. He too was worried about him and whether he was fit enough to continue with this quest.
***
Ganry rode on horseback, following a small pack of wolves who took him to a subterranean compound. There was no other way to describe it. This pack lived as humans, and not wolves, for there were large doorways leading to living chambers. He watched on, amazed, as they all reverted to their human form before descending into the den. It happened so quickly that Ganry could not describe the transformation at all. One minute they were wolves, the next they were human.
They walked past a huge door and into a chamber that led downwards in a spiral. Arriving at a huge chamber, he noted that in the center was a large hole. This was a well, their water supply, and it also seemed to be a central point for the community.
“My name is Nuntis. I guard you until Raff arrives. You are lucky he was close by, your wait will be short,” the man said to Ganry.
Ganry simply nodded his understanding and seated himself on the dusty ground, crossing his legs for comfort. This helped him relax. Entering into a den of wolves was not an easy task. He had heard many stories of the shape changers, most of them good. They were a secret folk and acts of aggression were rare, unless attacked. Their prowess in battle was legendary, and many Palaran kings of past had used the wolves to good effect, helping to defend the borders against attackers. He was still nervous. This was their land, and humans were not really welcome.
Nuntis was true to his word and within an hour, Raff, the alpha to this territory, entered the chamber.
“I see you are followed by troubled creatures,” Raff said as he put out a huge hand to greet Ganry.
They shook hands, a Palaran tradition of friendship. Ganry noticed that Raff was not a young man. He was someone of experience and knowledge.
“What are these walking corpses of humans? I have never set eyes on them before,” Raff asked.
“Neither had I until recently. We must talk,” Ganry requested. “I have much to tell you and a favor to ask of your people.”
“Come, we will go to my chamber where I can freshen up. I have been out on a hunt of these strange armies on my borders. I will be grateful for information, for they are hard to stop.”
Raff’s chamber was basic, but comfortable. They were met by the wolf’s partner, Zenisha, who provided refreshment. The sweet liquid was most welcome as it was warm underground and Ganry gratefully drained his cup in one. Zenisha smiled and poured him another. Just at that moment they were joined by other males, all in human form. Raff introduced them all, one by one. These were his trusted seconds in command of the packs in this territory.
They sat upon a large rug on the ground, made up of many animal skins. It was soft and luxurious and made sitting on the hard stone floor much more comfortable.
“Have you come from the Queen to tell me that Palara is invaded?” Raff began the meeting.
“Palara is not invaded, not just yet anyway, Alpha Raff,” Ganry began to explain. “The witches have followed us here with their army of the undead. I don’t know how they’re tracking us, but they seem to be on our tail every way we turn. It is likely that their army is made up of Palaran folk the witches are slaying along the way. Then they raise them from the dead to do their evil deeds.” Ganry paused a moment to allow the men to fully comprehend what he was saying. Even for shape changers, the knowledge that the dead could walk was difficult to comprehend.
“General Jeon of Mirnee,” Ganry continued, “is in league with them, but I don’t know the full details yet. I was sent by Emperor Nestor Fontleroy to find his son, before the witches do. Here is Queen Myriam’s ring so you can trust what I say is true. I must find the child before the General does, for I fear he means him harm. Do you know where the albino boy is?”
“I do, but he remains under our protection,” Raff replied. “We will not give him to you, or anyone else for that matter. None will have access to him.”
“You cannot keep him safe from the witches,” Ganry argued. “I need to return him to Mirnee. Only when he takes his rightful place on the throne will he be safe and the witches beaten.”
“Clearly, you are not aware of the legends of witches and wolves,” one of the other men spoke to Ganry. “If a human were bitten by a shape changer, it would have no effect, other than it would be painful or even fatal. If we bite any who have magic in their blood, they will Turn. Witches and shape changers are historically archenemies.”
“I think you will find that they will throw themselves at you to get this boy. I don’t know what hold he has on them, but they will do everything in their power to take him,” Ganry warned.
Raff stood, his face a mask of determination.
“The boy was placed in our care by the Emperor, with instructions that only he could take him. You say you are sent by the Emperor, but you have no proof. The boy stays with my people and that is the end of the matter.”
“I wish to speak with Ganry, Raff,” a small quiet voice said from the doorway.
Ganry looked over to see an albino boy with pure white hair, his skin a pale and pallid white, too. Even the boy’s eyes were like the rest of him, his pupils glowed like silvery disks. Ganry knew instantly this was the very special boy he had been seeking.
“I know my father trusts this man, Raff. He once told me that Ganry is my brother, in all but blood.”
23
The boy stepped out of the shadows and went to Ganry, holding out his hand in the traditional greeting. “My name is Cronos Fontleroy, and my father has spoken fondly of you.”
“And he speaks fondly of you still, young master,” Ganry smiled at him, accepting his handshake. “I am Ganry de Rosenthorn, and I have come to take you home.”
As he studied the pale-skinned boy, he thought he was of a mature nature for his eight years of age. Being born to an Emperor and next in line to rule probably does that to a child. He had been trained and prepared for leadership from the moment he said his first word.
“These people have been kind to me. I need to say my goodbyes. Will that be acceptable?” the boy asked Ganry.
Ganry turned to Raff. “You have to understand that while Cronos is here, both he and your people are in danger.”
“If Cronos wishes to return to his lands, I will not go against his wishes. He has a wise head for his age,” Raff smiled at Cronos. “However, my mate, Zenisha, would never forgive me if we did not have a proper send off for the boy. She has grown very fond of him. At the very least, she will demand a feast in his honor.”
Ganry felt his own men could do with a rest before the return journey, so although he wanted to set off as soon as possible, he didn’t object to the delay. Let them say their goodbyes and tomorrow they would leave for Castle Villeroy.
Ganry said his farewells to Raff and the boy, and was then escorted back to his own camp, along with Blaez, the wolfman who had brought him here. The men had finished setting up and they were relaxing when he returned. Oddly, there was a cluster of men around Riley.
Ganry approached the group to check that all was well.
“Artas is missing,” Riley informed him. “We’re just about to do a search of the perimeter. He can’t have gone far.”
Ganry nodded his agreement. He would help search for Artas. He was growing quite fond of the young man, and Myriam would never forgive him if anything should happen to her friend.
Blaez offered his help and spoke to the other wolves present, in their own language, a deep guttural sound with a staccato rhythm. They set off together in the search for the missing nobleman.
There were clusters of small woodlands close by, and they decided to break up so they could cover more ground. Each group had a wolf to accompany them. Ganry, Riley, and a grey haired wolf took the first small woods. They made their way through the dense copse and soon arrived in a glade. The small grassy meadow was alight with a glow of blue, which seemed to be shining from the center. They approached the light cautiously, swords drawn. The grey shaggy wolf with them was alert and cautious, the hackles on its back raised.
As they grew closer, it wasn’t a witch they saw, but instead they found Artas.
He was kneeling in the long grass, his head leaning back and a blue light shining from his eyes. Artas was not aware of anything around him. He was speaking to someone, a language Ganry had never heard before, yet there was no one present.
The wolf changed into human form and a young woman stood before Ganry and Riley.
“My name is Grecia, I am the shaman for my pack,” she introduced herself. “This human is under a spell, and under the control of the witches. He is passing information to them.”
Ganry gasped in surprise. Artas was the one betraying them. He never for one moment suspected him.
Grecia, seeing the shock on Ganry’s face, spoke, “Do not blame him, for he is young and vulnerable. If you must blame anyone then it is yourselves, for surely you must have seen some changes in his behavior. We must help him.”
Ganry was stunned to silence. Of course he should have realized. He knew Artas well, and he had not been himself these last few weeks, ever since they had returned from Mirnee. Now he understood how their escape had been so easy. Jeon had wanted them to come here and lead him to the boy.
Grecia set to work while Ganry stood and watched helplessly. She took hold of both of Artas’s hands and stared into his young face. Her eyes turned a ruby red and shone back at the blue light. They stared at each other, locked like that for what seemed an eternity to Ganry. The woman’s red eyes seemingly challenging the blue light, emanating from Artas’s eyes.
Suddenly the blue light flickered and began to fade, causing Artas to scream. Both bodies elevated upwards, just a few feet from the ground. Grecia did not let go of Artas’s hands. It was obvious he was in pain as the witch and wolf fought their private battle. The blue light flickered one last time and was gone. Grecia brought them both gently back down to the earth. Her eyes returned to grey and she smiled.
Artas just stared ahead for a few seconds, his face blank and impassive, a few beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. He blinked and then noticed Ganry and Riley, taking in his surroundings with a puzzled frown to his face.
“Why are you all staring at me,” he asked, “and why am I here?”
Ganry smiled, relieved that he would once again be himself.
“I’m sorry Artas, I never suspected anything.”
“I’ve had a dark cloud hanging over me for weeks, Ganry. My dreams have been troubled and I wake up in the strangest of places.”
“You have been possessed, Artas,” the grey eyed woman informed him. “The witches have been controlling your mind. They have used you to lead them to the Emperor’s son. But, fear not, all is well. Wolves do not fear the witches, it is they who fear us.”
“So it’s me that’s put us in danger?” Artas looked horrified at the thought.
“No, Artas, it is my fault, not yours. I know nothing of magic, but I should have seen you were not yourself.”
“We should return to camp,” Riley interrupted them. “I fear the woods are not safe.”
Ganry agreed. “Can you walk, Artas?” he asked.
Artas got to his feet with the aid of Grecia, and although he was a little unsteady, he could support himself. Soon they were all heading back to camp.
“Why do the witches want the boy?” Ganry asked, hoping the wolves had the answer to this puzzlement.
“It was an albino who banished Thalia, the Witch Queen, many hundreds of years ago. This albino was an ancestor of Emperor Fontleroy. The only difference was that then, it was a she and not a he. Young Cronos has the same bloodline, and they need him for the ceremony to return their queen. You must ensure this does not happen. If the queen returns, then the witches will be too powerful for humans to stop. The battle will be of magic, not swords. We will help you keep him safe, and together we will rid the world of this menace.”
Ganry realized at that point, this was not a battle between Mirnee and Palara, this was a battle for the very world. If the witches were to win, then darkness would envelop everyone.
24
Early the next morning, a pack of wolves arrived at the camp and with them was Cronos. No time was wasted, and before long they were all heading out, making their way back to Palara. Ganry thought the best option was to speak to Queen Myriam and she could decide the fate of this mission.
Ganry led from the front, with wolves scouting out the area ahead. Cronos rode upon the back of a huge black wolf. Ganry marveled at the contrast between the boy’s white skin and the darkness of his jet black wolf.
The wolfman, Torno, was Cronos’s personal body guard, and he would fight with his life to save the boy, at all costs. A bond had formed between them when Cronos was a babe, and now they were inseparable.
Ganry was happy with this arrangement, as it meant he could concentrate on the journey and getting Cronos to safety, knowing he would be protected by the wolves if they were attacked.
They made good time and soon the village of Lochwyne was on the horizon, named after the lake on which the people had built their homes. It was situated just outside the borders of Slohal Prairie, on the human side of the Kingdom of Palara. This whole area was dotted with many lakes. Ganry had planned to camp around the village, at the end of their first day’s journey. Yet, as they neared, it was clear something was amiss.
One of the wolves returned from the scouting party and approached Ganry, changing into his human form.
“The village is empty,” he said. “I see no one, living or dead, but I sense an evil presence.”
They moved closer to the village, all keeping a wary eye on the lake as they grew nearer. The waves lapped at the shore and became more frequent, when suddenly, just as before, walking corpses began to rise from the water. They headed slowly towards them. The unmistakable stench of death in the air was overpowering.
The human soldiers drew their swords and dismounted, but before they could take the stance of combat, the wolves were instantly upon the dead. They attacked with a ferocity that shocked Ganry, snarling and snapping as they plowed through the undead. Headless bodies soon littered the beach as the wolves made short work of the slow moving corpses.
“The witches will need a stronger army than that if they are to succeed,” Grecia explained to Ganry, who hadn’t even had time to dismount to join the battle.
“Where do you suppose the witches are hiding? They must be close?” he asked the wolf shaman.
“They will not linger where my kind walk. If we bite them, they will turn to shape changers, so they will have fled. It is the magic within both peoples that makes them vulnerable. We cannot change a human with our bite, only kill them, but a witch would be changed. Once changed, they would be outcasts, accepted by neither wolf pack nor witches’ coven. The chances are they would be killed by one or the other.”
“Only a few months ago, I shunned magic,” Ganry told her. “But now, it’s a different story. A man of my age sees much on his travels. I’m only too glad that humans are not affected by a wolf bite.”
“No, your bodies could not take the changing of bones and muscles,” she explained. “We are different, although we look the same when we are in your form. Our bodies grow differently. Our muscles and bones have a different element that allows them to transmogrify easily into our different body structures. Call it magic if you wish, but it is something deeper than that.”
“Are there are other types of witches?”
“Indeed, just as there are other shape changers. Most witches care for the earth or create potions for healing. They are good people and only want to use their magic to help others, not harm them. Not so with this clan. They are evil and would see the end of mankind if they rule. Magic and men can live together and have done so for thousands of years. Only when the magic is dark does it pose a threat to your kind, and ours too. We will fight this threat together.”
Ganry was pleased the wolves were their allies and not their enemies. The short work they had made of the living dead was a testament to their prowess in battle.
“How is Artas?” Grecia asked.
“We are grateful that you recognized his mishap,” Ganry smiled at her, noticing her beauty for the first time. Her long silver hair was mesmerizing and had an almost ethereal glow. How this woman could turn into a creature like a wolf, was hard to accept. She was so delicate and feminine.
“He is not sleeping as much, which is a blessing. Though he’s punishing himself for being caught by the witches. He recalls a day in Mirnee when had no sense of where he had been. We think that is when the witches worked their spells on him. We also now know that the escape from the prison was a set up, so they could follow us to find the Emperor’s child.”
“Have no fear for Cronos, he is protected well,” she said. “Although I will sleep easier once we have him behind the castle walls. I fear there is worse to come and would like him out of the open space.”
“I have that same gut feeling,” Ganry agreed.
The men piled the corpses into a heap and set fire to them. Again, there was a strange blue light to the flames. It quickly engulfed the bodies, reducing them to ashes in mere minutes. Despite the attack, it was decided to stay near the village for the night, and so camp was set. Fires were lit and food was prepared.
“I don’t know what General Jeon’s part is in this. He was always loyal to the Emperor in my days in Mirnee,” Ganry said to Grecia later that night as they sat around a brightly lit fire.
“You do not know, Ganry?” she asked him.
“Know what?” Ganry was puzzled at the shaman’s response.
“The witches have promised him the return of his son, for the Emperor’s child. Though he cannot know that his son will have no real mind. He will be a shell of a body.”
“You mean they can raise someone who has been dead these last ten years?” Ganry shuddered.
“They will bring forth his spirit’s memory and give it form.” Grecia grimaced, knowing it was dark magic that worked on such unnatural forces.
“Will he be like the undead we have seen?” Ganry was now worried for the General.
“No, these poor creatures have no spirit, they are just animated shells, driven on by a lust for flesh. They will awaken a memory of his spirit, but it will not be him, for he is gone to the afterlife. They will give it form, so it looks and feels human. But, it will not speak, or eat, or drink. It is not really alive and will have no capacity to think or feel.”
“This is madness, they cannot do this spell, surely it is cruel for the spirit that should be resting.” Ganry wondered how the General could do such a thing to his son.
“No, it is not cruel to the spirit, as it is only a memory in a shell of a body. But, it is cruel to the father, for this will not be his son. It will be an animated body that will look like him.”
“I must find Jeon. He must be made aware of this. Then maybe he will end his support of the witches and set his army against them.”
“You cannot help him, he is so very desperate for his son’s return. He will not listen to you, even though deep down inside he probably knows it to be true.” Grecia put her hand gently upon Ganry’s arm. “He will think that you lie, especially you, for his hatred of you is a heavy burden he carries. The best way to end his pain is to end his life. Let the days ahead decide his fate. Together we must join the battle against the evil that we fight, and help to stem it, before Thalia awakens.”
Ganry nodded his understanding. “I promise I will do all within my strength to rid the world of this evil.”
Grecia stood up to join her pack. The shaman and her wolves would sleep out in the open, as wolves. Ganry and his men were in tents. Although he would place his men on guard duty, he knew there was no need. The wolves would miss nothing throughout the night.
25
Ganry’s party arrived back at Castle Villeroy, where he felt the Emperor’s son, Cronos, would be safer. Surely, not even the General would dare to attack the royal household. The wolves had agreed with this strategy, and made the trip with them to ensure his safety. Once he was safely behind the secure walls of the castle, they would help end this nonsense with the witches and restore the Emperor back to his rightful place. But they needed to know the boy was safe, as did Ganry.
Queen Myriam was there to greet them. She had been overseeing the arrival of the family mural from the Duchess’s destroyed castle. Myriam approached Ganry and the boy. She welcomed Ganry back and introduced herself to Cronos.
“Welcome to Castle Villeroy, Master Cronos. You will be safe here until we can reunite you with your father.”
Cronos smiled at the queen, but said nothing, his attention was taken by the mural that was being laid out. Myriam, seeing his interest, nodded her approval, and Cronos ran to look at the stones. He seemed fascinated with the images depicted in the ancient stones.
Ganry bowed before Myriam, but soon formalities were forgotten. They were old friends with mutual respect, and had been through much together. Queen Myriam saw Ganry almost as a father, and Artas, her younger brother.
“Artas, how have you fared?” she asked, her brow knitted with a frown of worry. “You did not look well when you arrived back from Mirnee.”
“Indeed, I was not well, Myriam. I had been possessed by those wretched witches,” he told her, almost relieved to get the news off his chest.
Myriam looked at Ganry for an explanation.
“He tells the truth of the matter,” Ganry confirmed his tale. “That’s how they managed to track us on our journey. It was thanks to the wolf shaman, Grecia, that he is now free of their evil deed.”
At that point, Grecia had approached the group. Upon hearing her name, she curtseyed before the queen in respect, as she knew it was the human tradition to do so.
“I see I must thank you, Grecia,” Myriam smiled at her in greeting. “Artas is very precious to me. Our families have been through much together.”
“It is his young age that made him vulnerable,” Grecia explained. “It would have been more difficult to possess a mind of more experience, especially over a distance.”
“I thank your people for coming to our aid in this time of need for Palara.” Myriam was pleased the wolf people had come to help. “I am receiving daily reports of the armies of corpses. Usually there are not many in number, but the worst of it is, they consist of our own people. Those who have been killed by the witches and then raised against us. The whole situation seems uncontrollable.” Myriam looked deeply concerned as she turned to Ganry. “Hendon is out there, doing all he can to combat their magic, but he is alone, and they are many.”
“Fear not Queen Myriam, magic can be beaten with magic. You have more allies now, and we will go to Hendon’s aid.”
“I will get word to him,” Myriam, said, “although I doubt he’ll stop. He is a man close to nature and understands what an abomination these undead truly are. Knowing him as I do, I imagine he will do all he can to put them to rest.”
“This coven of witches have very little respect for humans,” Grecia said. “They believe that the world is for those with magic and show disdain for those without. Should they succeed in raising Thalia, humans would become slaves or die resisting.”
A cry of urgency from the courtyard drew their attention. As they turned to investigate the ruckus, they could see a messenger on horseback. He shouted for the gates to be closed behind him. Dismounting, he quickly approached the Queen and her party. He had clearly ridden long and hard to get to the castle, and he swayed slightly as he stood. Ganry helped the messenger to remain standing so he could deliver his message to the queen.
“I am sent by Hendon, your majesty,” he said, taking deep gasping breaths between sentences. “He says to inform you that he could not contain them.” Again he paused while he caught his breath. “A large army of dead are approaching the castle, and as they march, more join them daily. Your own people are sent to destroy you, my Queen. You must lock down the castle or flee.”
“Take this man to rest and give him food and drink,” Ganry ordered one of the castle soldiers who stood close by.
“I am going to put the castle on lockdown,” Ganry told Myriam, who nodded her agreement.
“My people are at your disposal,” Grecia said, realizing the urgency. “We must get the boy inside. I have other shamans with me who know what to do, but we need chambers that are deep within the castle walls. No windows and thick walls. Though, it needs to be somewhere we can escape with the boy, if necessary.”
“I will take him to the underground chambers,” Myriam replied. “We have hidden passages that lead to various places throughout the castle. He will be safe there, or at least as safe as anywhere is in these times of madness.”
“Our kingdom depends on it,” Ganry added. “These witches must not get ahold of that child.”
Myriam nodded, and, hand in hand with the Emperor’s son, they walked towards the castle keep, followed by three of the wolf shamans.
“I must go and ensure all our walls are guarded. Your people are welcome to join me. I will disperse them among the castle guards,” Ganry said to Grecia.
Grecia spoke to one of her kind who had been by her side. Instructions were given and most of the wolves dispersed.
“We fight better in the open, Ganry, not in confined places. I am sending most of the pack out beyond the castle walls. I will be joining them, for we must hunt down these witches. If we can kill the witches who control these pitiful creatures, then and only then can the dead finally be laid to rest.”
“I will come with you,” Ganry said. “Give me an hour to organize the guard and we will set off. I must find General Jeon. If I can tell him the truth, I may convince him to stop this madness.”
“I doubt it, Ganry. General Jeon is too far gone. He believes he controls the witches, but it is in fact they who control him.” Grecia made to leave. “We will wait for you.”
26
Ganry stood on the castle battlements, overlooking the fields surrounding the castle. For as far as the eye could see, they were filled with the walking corpses who moved relentlessly towards them. What started as a small group had quickly turned into hundreds. He suspected most were Palaran citizens.
“My heart weeps for my people,” the queen’s voice spoke softly, behind him.
“Myriam, you should not be out in the open. You must go with the boy,” Ganry pleaded. “At the very least, you could escape though the tunnels if we’re overrun. Try to take him to safety, if any such place exists in these times.”
“I refuse to cower away with the children while my people are so defiled,” she reprimanded Ganry at such a suggestion. “We must put a stop to this. It’s time these witches faced our soldiers in battle, and not the innocent citizens who cannot defend themselves against evil witches.”
A wail of unspeakable misery rose from the assembled corpses, chilling everyone’s hearts. Queen Myriam shivered visibly.
“Myriam, you must go inside. The stench and noise is not for a queen to witness. I need to know you are safe. You must survive this if the gates come down. You are the Queen of Palara.”
“So my grandmother has reminded me, several times,” Myriam said, defiance in her eyes. “Ganry, how many Palarans will they kill before this madness ends?”
“I’m to go out today to find their General. The wolves will hunt for the witches. It will end one way or the other,” is all Ganry would commit to. “Now go, Myriam. You owe it to your people to remain safe. Should their Queen be killed, there is sure to be an all-out war with Mirnee. If it is possible, I hope to avoid that. This is not the fault of Mirnee, it is the fault of an evil coven of hags.”
The wails from the dead had reached a crescendo, sending even the bravest soldiers into a state of panic. Queen Myriam could see many of them were close to crumbling. She must do something quickly. She must talk to them. She climbed a raised platform to tower over the people on the ground, and she spoke as loud as she could.
“Soldiers of Palara, listen to me, listen now!” Myriam was shouting to be heard above the noise of the wailing dead. “Your kingdom calls on you because you are our last wall of defense. Should you fail, then the kingdom fails with you. The people in our lands will be stricken with the problems that Mirnee face. Our kingdom will become nothing but a memory, words in some historical tome. We must not allow this! We must stand together and fight this evil that threatens our nation. Some will not see the end of this day. They will never be forgotten and they will be written into the lore of our kingdom. Remember, you are brothers as you fight. Remember, the dead that are now ranked before you, they were once fellow Palarans. Let their deaths not be in vain. Our people are relying on you. Stand and do your duty. For your queen who stands with you! For your kingdom, send these evil witches into oblivion!”
The men cheered at her rousing words and most found new courage to face the battle ahead.
Ganry stood, impressed. He too had seen the morale crumble at the sight of so many undead creatures advancing on the castle. The queen’s speech had given them hope. Myriam had changed much over the last few years, from a slip of a girl to a confident monarch who commanded the respect of her people.
Myriam approached Ganry and Artas, and embraced them both, lovingly.
“Keep safe, my friends. If anything were to happen to either of you, I’m not sure I could continue.”
“You will be fine,” Ganry said. “You are truly the Queen of Palara. While you stand, so does the Kingdom. Now go, the men are roused and will fight to the death for you. Don’t make it pointless because you fall on these battlements.”
Myriam nodded and quickly headed to the underground chamber. As much as she was loath to leave them, she knew Ganry was right. If she died, then the kingdom would too.
The chambers under the castle were even more ancient then the castle itself. Once, the royal family had lived underground in these chambers. Those were the days when dragons ruled the world, and no human was safe above ground. Those dark days had lasted far too long and her royal ancestors had called upon the shape changers to help them rid their lands of the fire-breathing beasts. Together, they had fought until it was safe to live above ground. For their help, lands had been bequeathed to the shape changers within the safety of Palara.
Once the queen had left for safety, Ganry looked over the turrets at the highest point of the castle. The open fields before him were covered with the walking corpses. On one side, a huge forest, Hendon’s homeland, and on the other, the huge mountain range of Palara.
The skies above were becoming darkened as black clouds moved over the area. A thunder crack roared in the distance as lightning flashed over the peaks. A storm was moving in, though it was not clear if it was natural or created by dark magic. Were the witches making it as difficult as possible for the humans?
He looked down onto the masses of the dead, most of whom had severe injuries. Their deaths had been cruel. There would be a long and painful mourning period for the Kingdom of Palara, once this was over. If it was ever over.
The dead at the rear were relentlessly pushing forward, crushing those at the front against the gates and the castle walls. The pressure on the gates was immense. He just hoped that they would hold, for if the masses of the dead entered the castle, all would be lost.
He found Grecia waiting patiently for him with a small pack of wolves. They had already changed, but she was still in her human form. The wolves were majestic and powerful creatures, not only in stature and physical strength, but also of the inner magic they possessed. They were lithe but fearsome, and moved with a natural grace. There was no doubting their incredible abilities, and their courage in battle was legendary, but would it be enough? There were hundreds of walking corpses out there, and they numbered only a few.
“We have dallied long enough. Are you ready, Ganry? We must go,” she asked him, concern in her face at the delay. “If we do not act soon, this will not be a battle, it will be massacre.”
The dead did not fight as they had no coordination. They just moved on relentlessly, crushing, biting and tearing at any living flesh that got in their way. Their bodies were weak, many deformed from the blows that had killed them, and they were animated only by magic. The witches must be close by though, directing their army of undead onto the gate of the castle. If they were to break through, the end of the battle would be close. Ganry knew they had to avoid this happening at all costs.
Riley and Artas joined them, both armed and ready for battle.
“You stay, Artas,” Ganry ordered. “If the walls fall, then I rely on you to save the queen and the child.”
Artas was clearly disappointed. He had wanted to show his worth in battle, especially after what the witches had done to him. Ganry was right though, and it was pointless arguing with him.
“Take care, Ganry, and return to us. You have much still to teach me,” Artas smiled at his mentor, trying to lighten the mood.
“You protect Myriam at all costs. If we lose the castle, we may still fight another day. If we lose the queen, then all is lost. Do you understand this burden?”
Artas nodded his understanding. Saluting Ganry, he turned and made his way back to the men.
Ganry and Riley headed through an underground tunnel which would lead them outside the castle walls and into the thick forest. Once there, the wolves would leave Ganry, for they could move faster and make their way to the rear of the masses.
By the time Ganry and Riley arrived on foot, the wolves were busy battling with the undead, and already many headless corpses littered the ground. The wolves attacked as a pack, darting between the slow moving creatures, and with amazing speed, easily decapitated them with a snap of their jaws. Their attack was devastating, but still, there were far too many undead and too few wolves for this to be effective. They needed to find the witches, and General Jeon.
The undead, as if sensing life, turned from their relentless march forward and moved towards Ganry and Riley, advancing on them with a slow purposefulness. Others joined in as their numbers grew and soon they were surrounded by the walking corpses.
Both drew their swords and stood back to back. Despite their slowness, they were surprised at how easily they had been surrounded. If they weren’t careful, they would be overrun.
With a battle cry, Riley swung his sword in a wide arc and quickly decapitated two of the nearest corpses, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a heap. Others, behind, trampled over them, eager to get at the living beings in their midst.
Together, standing back to back, Ganry and Riley swung their blades back and forth, removing the heads of any creature that came within range. Before long, the advancing dead had to crawl over the bodies that piled up around them, almost as a protective wall. It was exhausting work as they came on relentlessly. Constantly, they were in danger of being overrun. Just as it seemed all was lost, a pack of wolves appeared and joined in the attack, snapping and snarling, biting into the ranks of undead. Ganry noted the silver strip of fur on the back of one of the wolves, and knew it to be Grecia. It was not the first time she had come to their aid.
The reinforcements eased the pressure on Riley and Ganry. They managed to move away from the advancing hordes as the wolves were relentless in their attack. Moving so quickly they were nothing but a blur. Bodies soon littered the field, their heads removed.
Ganry and Riley moved back for some respite.
Unexpectedly, they were suddenly surprised by a small group of dead who appeared out of the forest. One of them, a huge man with thick muscled arms, wrapped them around Riley’s chest, pinning his arms to his own sides. The creatures had mouths agape, readying to plunge their teeth into Riley’s exposed neck.
Riley could feel the cold clammy skin of the creature that had him trapped. With his arms clamped firmly, he was unable to free himself. He felt the chill of a cold fetid breeze as the creature’s face moved close to his. With one last desperate attempt, he pushed his head forward, avoiding the bite. With all his might, he thrust his head backwards and his skull crashed into the face of the creature. Riley had the satisfaction of hearing the crack of bones under the blow. The creature staggered backwards, releasing him, before it fell to the ground, motionless.
Ganry feinted and twisted his body, moving with the ease of an experienced fighter, a veteran of many battles. Never had his foe been so fearsome. His sword swung first one way then another, arcing through the air and cutting down any that stood in its way. Soon, the small group that had waylaid them had all felt the hard-edged steel of his sword, and they lay in a heap.
“We cannot stay here, Ganry,” Riley muttered, panting. “We will be overwhelmed.”
“We must find the witches and the General if we are to have any hope of winning. But, you’re right,” Ganry agreed. “Let’s fall back into the woods and search for the enemy’s camp. If we find that, then I’m certain General Jeon will not be far away.”
A loud horn could be heard in the distance. The undead stopped advancing, as if listening. Then they were seemingly drawn by the noise and began to shuffle towards the sound, moving away from the castle.
Ganry watched as the walking corpses moved off in the same direction. He and Riley stared at each other in surprise. With great relief, they laughed.
27
Myriam watched the strange young boy, Cronos Fontleroy. He looked much older in years than his given age of eight. He was meditating, sitting cross legged on a large cushion. It seemed a strange thing for a young boy to do, Myriam thought.
“I can watch the progress of the battle, if I concentrate,” he spoke to her as if he had read her mind. “I’m unsure how to help, just yet, but I will learn.”
“I apologize, young Cronos,” the Queen said. “I did not mean to stare, but it is unusual for a boy of your age to look so calm in a crisis.”
“The wolves have taught me how to control my emotions and use the gifts that have been bestowed on me.”
“Gifts?” she asked, curiously.
“I am a seer, I can see events, even though I am not there. The wolves tell me that with training, I can also affect those events, but I do not yet possess such a skill.”
“You are but a boy. Your childhood is an important time, don’t grow up too soon.” Myriam sat down beside him. “At eight years old, I don’t think you need to worry about events beyond your control. You will have plenty of opportunity to worry when you grow older and become the Emperor of Mirnee.”
“In effect, I already am the Emperor. My father ails and those he thought of as friends would see him dead, Queen Myriam. I wish to go home to see my father, before it is too late.”
“I do understand, Cronos, for I too have had to take my place as a leader, before my time. However, I do have some years on you. You are hard on yourself.”
“Age is of no consequence to me, other than I need to be taller,” he replied.
Myriam laughed. “Yes, you need to be a lot taller yet, but you’re not far behind me, and you are quite tall for your age.”
The strange boy did not reply. He just continued to sit there with his eyes closed.
“Your mother, Cronos, do you look forward to seeing your mother on your return? You speak so little of her.” Myriam wondered about her, as he had only mentioned his father.
“My mother died giving birth to me,” he replied, matter-of-factly. ”She told me, when I was born, that my purpose in life was to help my father and save my people.”
Myriam had no response to such an odd statement. Had Cronos really communicated with his dead mother as she passed away on the birthing table?
“Your own mother tells me that you are doing a fine job and you must have more faith in your decisions,” Cronos told her.
“I know you mean well, Cronos, but my own mother is also d…”
“Dead,” he finished for her, interrupting before she could say the word. “I know this, Myriam, but she lingers in the castle and speaks to me. Your father has moved on, once he saw you were safe, but your mother wanted to watch you for a while. She may wait for your grandmother, the Duchess of D’Anjue.”
“Is my grandmother going to pass away soon?” she asked, unsure what to make of this peculiar boy’s words.
“I cannot know when a person is to leave this world, but she misses her own mother, the Duchess.”
“Cronos, I know you mean no harm, but the things you say are hurtful,” she said.
Cronos smiled momentarily, puzzled that she did not wish to hear from her mother, but he said nothing. His face was once again a mask of concentration.
“You can see now what is happening outside the walls? How goes the battle?” Myriam asked, dreading the answer.
“The odds are heavily against us. The undead are legion and relentless. Still, your man Ganry fights bravely and the wolves are helping. They need to find the witches, but as of yet I cannot see them. They have created a fog in my mind that hides them, but I search, still.”
“Ganry, you saw Ganry. Is he in danger?”
“He was, but I spoke to Grecia and they went to his aid. The wolf pack returns now. Ganry is with them. He is well,” Cronos spoke with such certainty in his voice that Myriam believed him.
“I like you, Queen Myriam,” Cronos said to her. “We will be good neighbors, once I am rid of these witches and take my place as Emperor.”
“I like you too, Cronos, and I am glad to seek diplomatic peace between our kingdoms. It was always my hope that we would.”
“We can unlock the doors, now,” Cronos announced to the guards. “The witches have gone, but they will be back, and I fear in larger numbers.”
“Cronos, shouldn’t we await the return of Grecia?” Myriam was struck by how easy this child took charge. He was a natural leader, that was most obvious.
“We are safe for now. The witches have called the dead to retreat.”
With those words the doors flew open, seemingly of their own accord, and coming down the stairs and into the chamber was Ganry and Grecia.
Myriam suspected the boy had opened them. She wasn’t sure how he had, but nothing this young boy did surprised her. The young Emperor-to-be of Mirnee was indeed a strange one, and Myriam was certain he would have a large part to play in this, before it was all over.
28
At the crack of dawn the next morning, scattered corpses could be seen across the fields and around the castle walls. The ones at the front had been crushed against the walls, but while they were immobilized, bones crushed and broken, they still tried to move. Their pitiful moans, while quieter than before, still froze the hearts of all who heard.
Ganry dispatched a small team to decapitate the remaining corpses, finally putting them to rest. Those left in the field that had already been finished by Ganry and the wolves were also collected together with the others. A huge bonfire was started to burn the remains, though the bones would eventually have the rite of burial and ceremony. The sight of the mound of burning corpses did nothing for morale. These were their countrymen; fathers, mothers, sons and daughters of Palara.
Myriam would have preferred to bury them now, but it was impractical and burning was the best solution to prevent disease from spreading. Later, when all this was over, she would build a monument to those who had been so defiled.
A sickly stench of death was overpowering as bodies burned on the pyre, but before the sun was high in the sky, the flames and the stench had receded. The castle could breathe again and a meeting was called by Myriam to discuss the best way to hunt down and kill the evil conniving witches.
Orders were dispatched and distributed by messengers to the outlying villagers, who were to be gathered and moved away from the border of Mirnee. Myriam wished she could house them all in the castle, but that was not practical. Neither could she spare many soldiers to protect them, as they would be needed in the battle. Still, moving them further inland should offer them some protection.
“I have called for more of my people to come,” Grecia said to the humans seated around the large wooden table. “You have a good strong army of men, Queen Myriam, but a sword will not rid the world of a witch of this caliber. Only magic can do that. I fear the next attack will be even more devastating.”
“The soldiers are finding it difficult to fight with the undead.” It was Artas who spoke, for he had been amongst the castle guards and seen their suffering, first hand. “These walking corpses were once their neighbors.”
“I understand how humans can be tormented with such violations of the dead. None of us like to see our dead befouled in any way. It is an evil deed,” Grecia sympathized. “That is their very objective, to spread fear and distress. Your men must stand firm against this evil adversity.”
“We will, but we are fighting a battle we cannot win alone.” Ganry was the next to speak. “We can provide numbers, men with weapons, but it is magic that is at the root of this. We must target the witches. We searched for them yesterday but they were hidden from us. We sorely need Hendon, is there no word of him?”
“No,” Queen Myriam replied. “He has not returned from battle. I do hope he still lives. We must make do with the magic that is amongst us, and hope for Hendon’s safe return.”
It was agreed that the shape changers would lead the way in the search for the witches, whilst the soldiers would defend the castle.
Suddenly, the door burst open and a messenger came rushing in. “Your Majesty, they return with a great army!” he shouted, fear written in his eyes.
There was clearly no point in questioning the man before them. Ganry was the first to leave and others quickly followed as they all headed for the battlements.
When he arrived and looked over the parapet, Ganry was stunned to see so many undead surrounding the castle. Are there any people still alive in Palara outside of this castle, he was beginning to wonder. This time though, it was not only the undead they faced, but a force of Mirnee soldiers were also present. Perhaps they led an army of undead Mirnee citizens, too.
“Queen Myriam,” a woman’s voice boomed. “Send out the albino boy, before you have no people left in your Kingdom!”
Ganry could see the owner of the voice. A tall, pale woman who sat upon a majestic, raven black horse. The horse’s mane and the woman’s black hair billowed in a wind that seemed to only affect them. Her voice was clear and seemed as though she stood directly before them. Clearly, magic was at work here.
“We will not negotiate with the boy’s life!” Myriam shouted back, though her voice did not carry as loudly.
“Foolish woman, your stubbornness will see more Palarans dead,” the witch woman announced. “Give me the albino boy and we will leave your Kingdom immediately. Refuse and the humans will continue to die. Is one boy worth all these Palaran deaths, Queen Myriam?”
“Enough, you care nothing for my people, so do not lecture me on this devilish deed. I do not negotiate with defilers and abusers. Open fire!” she cried, and instantly a rain of arrows flew over the castle walls and onto the gathered masses below them.
The attack was directed at the Mirnee soldiers and the witch on horseback. As wave after wave of arrows descended on them, many soldiers fell under the onslaught. They were taken completely in surprise by the attack, having been led to believe that the young Queen would crumble. Many Mirnean soldiers lost their lives that day because of that false belief.
The witch on horseback was completely untouched by the rain of arrows, even though many were directed at her. It was clear that some magical defense was protecting her.
“I would have appreciated some forewarning, my Queen,” Ganry spoke, taken aback by the unexpected attack.
“The time for parley is over, Ganry, too many Palarans have lost their lives. It is time to strike back, and strike back hard. There will be no peace until those witches are dead.”
“Of course, you are right, but the arrows did not touch the witch. This war cannot be won with sword or arrow.”
“Then now is the time for the wolves to show their loyalties,” Myriam said, turning to Grecia. “Are you with us?”
“The wolves of Palara will always stand with their Queen. We will hunt down and kill the witches, or die trying.”
Myriam smiled and laid her hand on Grecia’s shoulder, in thanks. “Your support is most welcome, my friend. Let us stand together, as did our ancestors.”
Their discussion was interrupted by cannon fire. The guns on the battlement spat out heavy shots, which crashed into the ranks of the undead below. The cannon fodder cut a huge swathe through their ranks, knocking many to the ground, crushed.
Ganry was impressed with Myriam’s decisiveness. She must have organized this earlier, readying her archers and cannons. He looked down on the ground outside the castle, only to see chaos reign. He had not expected the fighting to begin until the witches forced it upon them, but it was his brave Queen who took swift action against an evil foe.
He spotted the witch on the horse, and even from the battlements it was clear she was furious and completely taken by surprise. What happened next was an even greater surprise to all who witnessed. The witch jumped from her horse, springing into the air and emitting a rumbling roar from deep inside her chest. Her body changed before their eyes. When she landed on the ground, she was no longer a woman, but a huge brown bear. She looked up at the battlements, directly at Myriam and Ganry, and roared her anger.
“It is as I suspected,” Grecia shouted over the noise of battle. “She has been bitten by a shape changer, and she is all the more powerful for it.”
As Ganry helped to reload the cannon, they directed it to the giant bear that pounded on the gates to the castle.
“That bear will have those gates down in no time!” Riley shouted as he stood by Ganry’s side.
“We have enhanced the gates, magically,” Grecia said. “They will hold for now and give us some time, but we need a plan, and quickly.”
Ganry nodded. “Riley, go find Artas, I have an idea for the walking corpses. If it works, then we can eliminate that threat and our men can deal with Mirnean soldiers, leaving the wolves to deal with the witches.”
Riley left quickly, in search of Artas, wondering what Ganry had in mind. As he ran along, he looked over the battlement, curiously, to see how the battle progressed. The wolfman, Randor, approached him.
“Come, we must hurry,” Randor said to him. “We need to find Artas. Grecia has sent me to help you and I sense he is close.”
“Why do the corpses not attack the Mirnean soldiers?” Riley asked, more to himself, as he had noticed this.
“It is the witches, they have control of their feeble minds. Look, there, is that not Artas?” Randor pointed to a young soldier.
Standing on the battlement fighting with a Mirnean soldier who was attempting to get over the parapet, was Artas, his sword busy as he slew any Mirnean who had managed to climb the walls.
They ran, and pulled him away from the wall, directing another soldier into his place.
“Leave me be!” he cried as he was forced back. “We need every able man here.”
“You have a far more dangerous task, young Artas,” Randor told him.
“Ganry sends for you,” Riley said, to confirm the wolfman’s statement.
“Well, come on then, let’s not tarry, battles need to be fought,” he shouted, running off and leaving his two comrades looking at the space on the ground where he had just stood.
29
Ganry rallied the soldiers, leaving only a contingency within the walls. They were to take the battle outside. This would help the wolves track down the witches, as the men could engage the army.
Artas and Riley had their own instructions and went in search of horses and the other object that Ganry had requested.
The castle guards marched outside through the tunnels, which led into the forest, offering them some cover when they first emerged. Once on the outside of the walls, the wolf people changed shape and disappeared deeper into the forest, where the witches were most likely hiding. The soldiers, led by Ganry and his commanders, broke into groups of three. A third of the soldiers were to engage the undead, the rest would attack the Mirnee invaders.
The battle was fierce and bloody. Undead were cut down in swathes by Palaran soldiers. Soon the ground was covered in many headless bodies. The battle with the Mirnean soldiers though, was progressing more slowly. These were also seasoned soldiers and difficult to cut down, not giving any ground.
The undead seemed never ending, hundreds upon hundreds of them, all oblivious to their surroundings. Relentlessly they moved forward, biting and clawing at any living creature that stood in their way. Where had the witches found all these people, Ganry thought. He realized that some were also Mirneans, confirming his suspicions that the witches had brought corpses across the borders. This would not have been an easy task, controlling all these mindless creatures. The Mirnean soldiers must have helped by keeping them grouped together like some macabre cattle run.
Riley and Artas rode up to Ganry on horseback. “So what’s this grand plan of yours, and why do we need this Gjallarhorn?” Riley queried, holding up the horn so Ganry could see it.
“The witches rounded up the corpses with the sound of a horn. I have seen it a few times now. They seem attracted to its sound,” Ganry explained. “I am hoping we can do the same. Direct the corpses away from the battlefield, that will make our task here easier with just the Mirneans to fight. Find higher ground and blow the horn. If all goes as planned, then they will follow you. Take some more men to help control them, but ensure you all keep your distance. Lead them away from the castle and into open land. Once you’re at a distance, start to deal with them. Let’s grant them the peace they deserve.”
The two men saluted Ganry and rode off over towards higher ground. He hoped the witches were too busy escaping the wolves to thwart his plan.
Heading off towards the forest, in the direction he had seen the wolves go, the trees became denser, and the lack of light made it difficult to see clearly. A rising of the hairs on the back of his neck alerted him to danger, and he quickly lunged to his left. A huge spiked club came crashing down on the spot he had just been standing, smashing into a young sapling and sending splinters of wood everywhere. The owner of the club was as comparably huge, a giant of a man in a Mirnean uniform.
“Ganry de Rosenthorn,” he growled, in a deep, husky tone. “General Jeon asked me to convey his compliments before I kill you.”
“I would ask you to return my compliments to the General, but I fear your life will end here today, Mirnean soldier. Are you ready for that?”
“You are no match for me, Rosenthorn,” the man roared, “I am champion brawler of the 47th Division. I have killed more men in battle than the whole of my platoon. You will just be another notch on my club.”
Ganry stood his ground and watched the huge warrior approach him. He must have stood well over nine feet and towered above Ganry. He wondered if he was a true giant from the north. He had heard of these people living in far off lands. Though he understood them to be shy, preferring not to be seen.
“Let’s find out if you have a heart then, giant,” Ganry said, drawing his sword.
Barely had Ganry finished speaking, than the giant rushed at him, his club swinging back and crashing down towards Ganry’s head. Ganry avoided the blow, spinning around on the balls of his feet, his sword glinting in the dim light as it flashed across the giants huge bicep, opening a wound that trickled red with his blood.
The giant roared, as much in frustration as pain, and stood looking at Ganry with a surprised look on his face. Again, drawing back his club, he lunged at the former mercenary. This time, he thought he had him, a look of triumph on his face as his weapon swung down, but that soon turned to a look of despair. Again, Ganry had feinted his movement and the giant’s club thudded into the ground. Rosenthorn was like a little gnat, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not swat it.
Ganry swung around and jumped upon the giant’s back, grabbing him in a headlock, attempting to crush his windpipe, but it seemed the man’s neck muscles were made of iron. The giant growled and grunted in his attempts to shake off the man he wanted to kill, but Ganry was strong for a human, and hung on while he thought of his next move. Whatever he did, he must stay out of the way of this giant’s swing.
The Mirnean, unable to shake off Ganry, ran backwards, smashing him into one of the trees, severely winding him. Ganry jumped from the beast’s back and ducked just in time as the club swung again, missing his head by a hair’s breadth.
Ganry, for his part, could not rely on his own strength against this huge man, he needed his wits about him. This was not an equal fight, he needed to find an advantage, tire him and it might give him the chance to strike. This time when the giant approached, Ganry turned on his heels and ran.
The giant roared his frustration, calling Ganry a coward as he chased after him. He must kill Ganry, at all costs, for the witches had told him that he had murdered the General’s son. The General had taken him into his army, and for this he would repay such a kindness. His people might be giants, but they were a soft and timid folk. The General had trusted him and trained him into a killing machine. He would do this deed for the General to show his loyalty.
As Ganry ran, he felt something fly past his head, clipping his shoulder with such a force it sent him sprawling to the ground. The giant had thrown his club, narrowly missing his head. He considered taking the club but it was far too large for him to use. Instead, hearing the heavy footsteps quickly approaching, he rolled to one side, just in time as the giant came crashing through the undergrowth.
Both men were so busy in their own personal combat, they had failed to see that a number of undead were approaching. Soon they were both surrounded. The undead advanced on them. Both men, their personal battle forgotten, turned their attentions to the new danger. The giant, now back in possession of his club, smashed through the corpses with ease. Ganry’s sword was busy also, detaching the heads from the necks of any creatures that approached.
Still they came, and despite their efficiency in killing they were soon outnumbered and almost overcome.
Then he heard it, the loud sound of a horn, and so did the undead. They stopped in their tracks and turned towards the sound. A few, those closer to the men, continued to advance. Seemingly, the draw of the living overruled the sound of the horn. But Ganry and the giant soon made short work of them.
The corpses had been fooled into leaving the battleground and followed the sound. He prayed that Artas and Riley had found sturdy horses, for they were about to lead hundreds of corpses away from the castle.
Now, he had to deal with the other problem at hand, and turned back to the giant, his sword gripped tight.
30
Palaran soldiers trailed behind the undead, intent on finishing them off, and were surprised to find Ganry and the giant man battling. The giant was quickly surrounded by Palarans. They kept a wary distance from him, but pointed spears in his direction. Both giant and Ganry were exhausted. Having fought with each other and then the group of undead had taken its toll. The giant stood stock still, offering no resistance, his club dropping to the ground at his feet.
“Shall we kill him, sir?” one of the soldiers asked.
“He is a rare creature and it seems a shame,” Ganry replied, uncertain of what to do. The giant of a man would have been manipulated by the General and the witches.
“What say you?” Ganry asked, moving closer to the giant. “Should I allow the men to finish you off, or do you wish to live?”
“What are your terms for my life, gnat? I doubt I would find them palatable.”
“There are no terms, just leave the battle and return to your own. I have heard of your people, you are not warlike. The witches have bewitched you. Go home to your kind, that is all I ask.”
As they spoke, a wolf arrived and approached the giant man, sniffing the air in front of him. The giant reached out and stroked the wolf’s head.
“You have bested me in battle, gnat, and yet you spare my life,” the giant said. “I would not offer you the same courtesy. My life is now yours to command, and I will swear my loyalty to you. I will not leave the field of battle, as you ask, but I will fight with you rather than against, until my debt is repaid.”
Ganry nodded his understanding. The giant would be a ferocious addition to their ranks. Today had gone well. The plan for the undead had worked and they no longer surrounded the castle. The Mirneans had retreated, their tails between their legs. But Ganry was not complacent. He knew Jeon would be back. He just needed to be certain they were ready for him.
***
Artas was feeling really pleased with himself as he rode steadily at the head of the column of the undead. He felt like the General of a huge army as they followed him away from the castle. Riley was at the front with him, and around twenty Palaran soldiers helped to keep the strays in line. Each man took their turn at blowing the horn should the corpses forget where they going.
“What shall we do with them?” he asked Riley, who rode by his side.
“I think there is our answer.” Riley pointed in front of them.
Artas followed the direction of Riley’s finger to see the wolves gathered in a large pack. There seemed to be more than when they had first arrived. Artas remembered Grecia mentioning she had sent for reinforcements. Together with his men, they would make short work of the grotesque task ahead and send the human souls of these corpses on to the next life.
The work was grisly and uncomfortable, but soon all the undead were slumped on the floor in heaps, heads removed from bodies, either by sharp Palaran steel or the jaws of the wolves. There was no time to burn them, as night was quickly approaching and they needed to return to the safety of the castle. They would come back later and turn the rotting corpses into a pile of ashes, then bury the bones, as was their right.
They rode swiftly back to Castle Villeroy, the wolves running close by. As they approached the castle they could see a giant of man entering the castle gate. Artas and Riley stopped their horses to look upon the odd spectacle.
“Have you ever seen such a large man?” Artas said, more to himself than to his companion.
“No,” Riley, replied, equally baffled, “but then I’d never seen a wolfman before either, and they are proving to be good allies.”
With this, they both shook their reins, instructing the horses into a gallop. They might as well go through the gates while they were still open, for the darkness was quickly setting in.
31
Everyone within the castle walls was utterly drained and weary. It had been a physically hard day. Grecia had informed the Queen that the wolves had been unable to track all of the witches, though they had killed a couple of lower order ones. The leader, though, was staying well out of harm’s way.
Ganry ordered Riley to rest. He and Artas would take first watch and awaken Riley for his turn later. Riley’s body was used to sleeping in makeshift places. Such was the life of a mercenary. This was the way of survival, the way he had learned to cope when times were rough. He found a quiet corner and huddled his legs into his body in a sitting position. Within seconds, he was sleeping lightly.
Ganry and Artas supervised the wounded into the infirmary. The dead, killed on the assault of the castle, were placed in a large tent away from the main castle area. When this was over, they would all get the proper burial they deserved.
The giant, who Ganry now knew as Rochmyr, had settled in with the wolfmen. He would be a good asset, so long as his loyalties were true. Despite his seemingly genuine change of sides, Ganry still had doubts. As he watched, he noticed a small boy approaching the giant. It was Cronos.
“All is well, Ganry,” the young boy said as he neared them both. “I can sense this man means me no harm. I have made another new friend on this day.”
“I hope your senses are true, young Lord, for he is a formidable fighter. I would feel happier if kept your distance from him until we understand where his allegiances lay.”
“No, Ganry, truly,” the boy said, a slight annoyance in his tone. “I feel safe with Rochmyr, and he would be the perfect bodyguard for me, especially when Torno, my wolf protector, is fighting for our cause. Rochmyr will keep me safe, of this I am certain. He will guard me within the castle walls. We have much to learn about each other’s people. I know very little about the giants from our lands. Now is a good time to learn. After all, he is a Mirnean.”
Rochmyr picked up the boy and placed him on his shoulders. They walked off towards the castle keep where the food was being served, for a giant has a hefty appetite. Ganry watched, a little bemused at the strange sight of a nine foot man, with a small albino boy upon his shoulders. He would indeed be a formidable bodyguard for the boy, providing his intentions were true.
Night falls quickly at this time of year, and soon most of the castle grounds were empty of busy people. Many had retired to their sleeping quarters, others to the drinking establishments that remained open inside the castle walls. It had been a difficult few days and they needed the release from the stresses of battle. The touch of alcohol would provide that, and the company of close and trusted friends. The only movement came from the castle guards who walked on the battlements, watching the surrounding area for signs of danger.
Ganry sat high upon the turrets with Artas, who had his bow at the ready. A movement down in one of the courtyards caught the younger man’s attention. It was by the temporary infirmary and morgue. From this distance and in the half twilight, Artas could not be certain, but he swore he could see movement there.
“Artas, look. Down there.” Ganry pointed to the same spot he had also seen movement. “Ready your bow, I think something is amiss,” Ganry ordered.
Artas knew where Ganry was pointing, but when he looked again he noticed nothing. Perhaps their eyes were deceiving them in this murky light. Yet, the longer he stared, the more he too felt that something was there.
“There is something, yes, look at the tent doorway. Could it be….?” Artas said, unable to finish his sentence as a chill of horror crept over him.
“Yes,” Ganry confirmed his fears, “the damn witches have raised our fallen compatriots. Quickly. Shoot for the heads. Now boy, now,” Ganry cried out. “Keep shooting them, Artas, I’ll get down there as quickly as I can,” he said as he flew down the stone stairwell, calling for some of the guards to follow him.
They made their way towards the death tent.
Artas was quick with his bow, a skill he had learned as a young boy from his father. His aim was true and soon many of the undead fell with one of his arrows buried in each of their skulls, but there were too many, he could not shoot them all. With a growing horror he watched. From the infirmary a young woman emerged. He recognized her as one of the helpers of the wounded. She walked straight into the midst of the creatures, and was quickly surrounded. Her pitiful screams rang out in Artas’s ears. He continued to fire off more arrows, but he could not save her. Her body crumpled onto the floor, and the ungodly creatures fell upon her.
Ganry and the guards soon arrived, as did the wolves, alerted by the woman’s screams. Quickly, they set about the undead. Once again, the ground around them was littered with the headless bodies that lay still as death.
“Bah! This is a poor way to have to treat our fallen colleagues. They have given their lives for their Kingdom and now they are defiled by those damn witches,” Ganry exclaimed as Artas arrived.
The soldiers looked around, shocked, at the pile of decapitated corpses. They knew many of these men, had fought side by side. They were men who had given their lives courageously in defense of their Kingdom. This should not be happening, they should not have to suffer this indignity.
“I can cast a spell on the grounds of the castle,” Grecia told Ganry. “At least then, should a human die within these walls, they can rest in peace, safe from the wiles of the witches.”
“Do what you can to stop this vile abuse of our comrades,” Ganry said, his face looking old and tired after the day’s events.
“I will need to leave behind three of my shamans to hold the spell. That will be three less on the battleground,” she said.
“Better that than risking the Queen and the boy to the undead,” Ganry replied, relieved that something could be done to stop this madness, at least within the castle walls.
“I have received a message,” Grecia told Ganry, before he walked away. “I was just about to find you to convey what the witches have told me.”
“What? Are you saying they have spoken with you?” Ganry was surprised. He knew she had not found the clan of witches when last they had searched.
“No, we have not spoken, but I have received a message. It was while I slept. Their power is strong and I am at my weakest when in slumber. They wish to speak with us, outside the castle gates. They assure me that they will not attack.”
“It has to be a trick!” Artas spoke up, trying to convince Ganry. It was madness to think they would not attack him. These people had no honor, lying was just one of many dishonorable acts.
“I believe they seek to retreat, if they can,” the wolf shaman said. “Their numbers are diminishing and there are only so many dead they can call upon. Yesterday’s events dealt their plans a heavy blow. Whereas we can gather in more soldiers, as this is our homeland, if needs be.”
“So, why don’t they just retreat?” Ganry asked.
Grecia thought on his question for a few seconds, before responding.
“I’m not certain. They perhaps hope to convince us to give them the boy. Their whole strategy depends on him. One last throw of the dice, maybe?”
“I will parlay with them,” Ganry agreed. “Anything to delay or stop this madness. Let’s try and determine their intentions.”
“I can’t help but think, this will not end well,” Artas interrupted.
Riley emerged into the group, hearing Artas’s warning. “What are you both discussing?” he asked. “I’ve just heard what happened here. Did we lose many?”
“The witches raised our dead, but the wolves have counteracted their spell,” Ganry explained to his new battle friend. “Artas, go rest,” Ganry said, sending the young man away. “Riley, I will sleep at your side as you watch the wall. Wake me at the crack of dawn. I need to prepare for a meeting with our enemy.”
32
“The General has arrived,” Cronos said to Queen Myriam as they sat eating a breakfast of breads and cheeses.
“You mean he’s at the gate?” she asked, puzzled by this statement.
“Yes, and he has come with only two soldiers by his side,” the boy replied.
“Then let us go greet him, immediately,” she said, before calling one of the servants to go in search of Ganry and inform him of the new development.
By the time the Queen’s retinue had arrived on a balcony overlooking the main gate, it was already opening. There was no sign of Ganry as yet.
General Jeon rode into the castle grounds with only two men to guard him. Whilst he hated his son’s killer, Ganry, he knew him to be honorable and that they would not slay him, just yet.
As he dismounted, Ganry was observing from another window. He stood in the room where he had instructed the guards to bring the General. He had also sent out a message to the Queen and to Grecia, so they could be present at the meeting about to take place.
Grecia arrived first, and without speaking, she took her seat at the long table. She also had a couple of wolfmen with her. They were her Seconds and would also serve to help her if this General tried any magic trickery. No one trusted this meeting. What could these witches possibly hope to achieve, for there would be no forgiveness on the part of the wolves.
The General was brought up to the room. As he entered, he looked around to see who was in attendance. Ganry nodded and pulled out a chair, to which the General approached and seated himself at the end of the table. Others who had been invited began to arrive, with the Queen coming through the doors last. She brought in the albino boy, Cronos. He might only be eight years old, but this involved him directly. It was right for him to be here.
Ganry watched General Jeon closely. He appeared to look startled when he saw the boy.
Once all were seated, Ganry stood to speak.
“You are not welcome in the Kingdom of Palara, General Jeon, and we would request that you take your soldiers, and your witches, out of our lands.”
“The boy is to come with us. We wish only to take him back to his own lands of Mirnee. What right have you to hold him here? I consider it an act of kidnap, resulting in war!” The General said, his voice rising with every word until he was almost shouting at Ganry. He banged his hand on the wooden table, to emphasize his anger at Palara for taking the Emperor’s son as prisoner. “You will hand him over, now!”
“I hardly think that you’re in a position to make demands, General,” Queen Myriam said, calmly.
“You have no right to hold this boy prisoner,” the General said, directly to the Queen. His ice cold eyes yielding no fear.
“Let us stop playing games, Jeon,” Ganry said, not willing to continue with this farce. “We all know that the Emperor placed the boy in the safe hands of the wolf people for protection. Let’s move on from this pretense. Why are you really here?”
“Queen Myriam, your people are dying out there,” the General turned to speak with Myriam, once again. “We will continue to murder your citizens if you persist in being involved. The boy is not your problem. This is a political issue that concerns Mirnean leaders only. Your actions can be construed as an aggressive act and we are well within our rights to declare war on an aggressor. Is this what you really want, Queen Myriam? If so, then you are being badly advised. Give us the boy and we will leave your lands.”
“It is I who should be declaring war, General Jeon.” The Queen stood and faced the tall Mirnean General, a steely determination in her eyes. “You have invaded my lands. You are killing my people and with some evil magic spell, you are then desecrating their bodies. You, General, are already at war. The boy remains in safe hands and will be protected from you, at all costs.”
“Your foolish pride will cost your people dearly. You will have no population left by the time I have finished. As for you, Ganry de Rosenthorn, I will have the greatest of pleasure running my sword through your heart when next I find you on the battlefield.”
“You are being duped, Jeon,” Ganry said in a quiet tone, trying to calm the General. “When your son returns, the body will be an empty shell. It will not be him. Thankfully, his soul has already passed on to the next life. What you propose to do is not out of love, but out of your own selfish needs. You are a fool.”
The Genera stood, his face red with anger, his hand on his sheathed sword hilt. “I will happily end your life, here and now. You are a traitor to your land of birth, and your cowardice resulted in the loss of my son.”
Ganry, his own anger rising, stood his ground, his hand ready to unsheathe his own sword, if necessary. If only the General would listen to reason, but it was clear he was beyond any rationality.
“Stop this nonsense, both of you,” a voice shouted out. The Duchess D’Anjue entered the room. “General Jeon, you will behave in a manner expected of someone of your rank, or be a guest in our dungeons!” she said calmly, but authoritatively. “Ganry, lay down your arms, this is not the time or place for you to be disloyal to your Queen.”
The General still bristled, his anger now completely out of control.
“While your wife and child burned alive, I listened to their screams,” Jeon spat at a shocked Ganry. “My revenge will never be complete until you are dead.” He let go of his sword and turned to leave.
Ganry stood there stunned, a rage burning inside of him. He had never suspected the General was complicit in his wife and daughter’s deaths. Always believing the official version that they had died at the hands of bandits. Now, he knew the truth, and it burned him inside with a hatred of the man standing before him. It took all his willpower not to kill Jeon right where he stood.
As Jeon passed through the doorway, he turned sharply and spoke to the boy, Cronos. “You would do yourself a favor if you left this place and came to us voluntarily. Fewer would die. Do you want their deaths on your conscience?”
“Leave now, General, before I forget the honor of my family and have you thrown in the dungeons and executed for your crimes against my people!” Queen Myriam ordered. “Guards, see him out of the castle.”
The General and his bodyguards were quickly surrounded by Palaran soldiers. He was marched away, but the threat of death loomed over their heads while they remained in the castle grounds.
Ganry stood and watched, seething with rage. His body trembled as he attempted to control his emotions. He felt a small, soft hand slide into his own blistered, hardened fingers. When he looked down, it was Cronos who had moved to his side.
The boy said nothing, but Ganry felt an inner peace run through his mind and body. His rage dampened and the red mist before his eyes lifted. Cronos had used his gifts to reach him, simply by touching him he had eased his inner pains. The General’s words had brought back the sharp memory of his beautiful wife and daughter. It had jolted the deep pain as he once again felt their loss.
The heartbreaking memory had never really left him, but he had coped with the pangs of sadness following their deaths. But now that he had learned the truth, the torment felt as if it had only happened yesterday. His life now had new meaning, no longer was it the faceless bandits who lived in his dreams. He knew who their true murderer was. Soon, very soon, he would dig the blade of his sword into that wicked and cruel heart, and extinguish the life of the man who had done so to theirs.
33
“You should have kept him here and executed him,” Artas said as he stood talking to Myriam. “It’s not as if they play fair, or even by any rules.”
“The temptation to do so was strong, Artas. We had a responsibility to the rules of a parley. It is a sacred tradition that no harm should come to those who are involved,” she replied quietly. “Besides, Ganry does not need my help in seeking his revenge. He will find the time and place to avenge his family.”
Artas looked over at his mentor who appeared completely drained. All had heard the words that the General had uttered about his family. It was he who had had them burned alive in their own home. He had considered it a punishment for the death of his own son. Jeon was blind to the truth that his son, Porteus, had died by his own foolishness. The fault could not be laid at Ganry’s feet. Though his grief was great, he remained oblivious to the facts of his son’s own stupidity.
“It is because it is his son who died,” a small voice said to him.
“Cronos,” Artas said in surprise. “Can you read my mind?”
“In a way,” he explained. “I do not know your exact thoughts, just a general idea. Your thoughts were strong with raw emotions so I can better understand what you are feeling. You have a great respect for your mentor. But, remember, the General had a great love for his son, and this is what blinds him so. He has been promised by the witches that if he delivers me to them, they will return him. He cannot accept his son’s death and therefore continues to be fooled.”
“You are a wise one for such a small boy,” Artas said, slightly taken aback by his thoughts being read.
“It is not wisdom, Artas, just the truth. It speaks to me and it cannot be denied.”
Artas felt a shadow loom over him. When he looked up, it was the giant who entered the room. He moved to Cronos and gently scooped him up, placing him on his shoulders. Together, they were so tall that the boy’s head almost touched the ceiling.
“My new guardian is a little overprotective at the moment,” Cronos laughed at Artas’s amazed expression.
This was the first time Artas had seen Rochmyr close up. Previously, it was from a distance when he seen him enter the castle gates. He was a huge man, towering above even the tallest Palaran soldier. It was a great relief that he was now on their side as he would not want to meet him on the field of battle.
“I am jealous, young Cronos. I would dearly like a warrior such as him protecting me on the battlefield. Perhaps we could come to some arrangement?”
They both laughed at the joke, even the giant smiled briefly, before he carried Cronos out the door, bending sharply so they could pass under the mantle. Artas knew it was a good thing that this small Emperor was making close companions, for he had a long and busy life ahead of him.
***
Ganry was not fully aware of what was going on around him. He noticed the giant lifting the boy Cronos, but mainly his vision was hazy. Retreating into his inner thoughts, he was remembering better times. A time when he was husband and father to a beautiful wife and an adorable little girl. How could anyone purposely murder them in such a horrific way? Killing Jeon was all he could think about. Even then, he wished he could make him suffer before doing so, rather than simply ending his life with a clean thrust of his sword.
Ganry’s family had been innocents, whereas Jeon’s son had died through his own actions. It was bound to happen, sooner or later. How could Jeon not see the truth of the matter? His grief had blinded him badly, and driven him to murder innocent people. The General wished to be with his son again, well, Ganry intended on making sure he joined him. They could live together forever in the afterlife.
“Your wife and daughter do not seek revenge, Ganry,” a small voice interrupted his heavy thoughts. “They wish only for you to go on living. There is time for you to be with them, but that time is not now.”
“Cronos,” Ganry exclaimed, knowing the boy had left the room. He realized that the voice was in his head. “You cannot speak of my family. You cannot know what they want,” he replied, in his own thoughts.
“I have spoken to your daughter, Ruby, and she tells me her mother wants you to live through this mad event. They will wait for you, but time has no meaning to them. You have much yet to do here in this world.” Ganry had a vision of Myriam that Cronos put in his mind. “Others still need your help.”
“How can you know my daughter’s name?” Ganry was becoming agitated at the boy, and anger inflicted the tone of his voice, even though it was still only in his thoughts.
“She spoke to me. I can hear the words of those who have passed, sometimes. She does not want you to throw your life away for them, when they can wait forever for you to join them.”
“Go to your chambers where you will be safe.” Ganry no longer wished to have this strange conversation inside his head. Yet, the boy knew of his situation, and of his daughter’s name. He did not understand how this could be, but the last few years had taught him to open his mind to many things. Talking to the dead was just one of them.
Grecia approached him. “The boy is to come with us. We need his help to track the witches.”
”Is that wise?” Ganry queried. For all he was annoyed at the strange boy, he did not wish him to be in harm’s way. If he was to be captured, all this would have been in vain.
“It’s the only way, my friend,” Grecia smiled, touching Ganry’s arm. “He will be very well protected, by us and his newfound guardian. If we are to stop this madness, we need to find those witches. Only then will he truly be safe.”
Ganry said nothing, but he knew she was right. They could not hide him away in the castle forever. Sooner or later, the witches would have him. The final battle was approaching, scores would be settled and the fate of two nations hung in the balance.
34
The gates of Castle Villeroy swung open as the diverse group left the castle under cover of darkness. Ganry led the way with Artas and Riley just behind. Following them were a small number of the Queen’s Guards, and running at their side were the wolves of Palara. Bringing up the rear, a large giant of a man with a young albino boy on his shoulders.
The Mirnean army was amassed on the fields surrounding the castle. They had set up camp readying themselves for the assault on Castle Villeroy. They far outnumbered the troops that Myriam had at her command inside the castle, but Villeroy’s walls had never been breached, though it had never faced such numbers before, either. Myriam had called for reinforcements from the Barons in the north, who commanded huge forces all loyal to the Crown, but none had yet arrived.
Unbeknownst to Myriam, General Jeon had foreseen such a move, and had sent a large contingent of men to head off any reinforcements. They had engaged the troops less than ten miles from the castle and were holding them back. Without these men, Myriam’s position was very precarious.
The invading forces were massacring Palaran citizens as they swept through the kingdom, with the witches reanimating the corpses, adding to their already overpowering numbers. The undead were not as great in numbers as before, as most of the villages and towns were now deserted. The people had taken to the hills, hiding from the invaders. Still, the sight of the undead and their ghastly wails could chill the heart of the stoutest warrior. The witches of Mirnee had much to answer for with these despicable atrocities, and it was to that end that the war party had left the castle.
The boy, Cronos, rode upon the back of the giant, Rochmyr, and by their side ran his other guardian, the wolfman, Torno. He wanted to try and locate the whereabouts of the witches, a crucial task if the castle was to survive the upcoming onslaught. Rochmyr would keep him safe and away from any heavy fighting, at all costs. They headed into the forest, the most likely hiding place of their magical enemy.
Ganry led Riley and Artas, along with fifty or so of the Queen’s Guards. They moved quietly through the night, keeping a wide distance from the Mirnean camps. It had been his plan to flank the enemy and take their position at their rear. Once the battle began, they would sound the horn and lead the corpses away, before finally finishing them off. If the plans were successful, they would cut their way through the enemy’s flank, causing as much destruction and confusion as possible. Ganry hoped this strategy would buy them some time while the boy searched for the witches, but that was not all he hoped for. In the ensuing mayhem, he would try to seek out Jeon and kill him. He needed to exact his revenge for the murder of his family.
Ganry was concerned that finding the corpses may prove to be difficult. Spreading out his men to cover as much ground as possible, it might reduce the risk of being seen. In the end, it turned out to be an easy task. Their pitiful wails and the dreadful smell led them straight to the area where they had been corralled. They were set well away from the main camp, with no guards to watch over them. It seemed the Mirneans were not enamored with their dead allies. Despite being unguarded, they did not wander at all. Clearly some magic had been cast on them to keep them subdued.
“Now we wait,” Ganry told Artas and Riley. “When the assault on the castle begins, make your move.”
The sun was beginning to rise as they moved into position with the enemy camp a hive of activity. Mirnean soldiers were falling into rank, readying for battle. The whole area was bathed in a deep red light from the rising sun, casting a sinister glow everywhere. Ganry hoped this was not an ominous portent, but he knew that it wouldn’t be the sun staining the ground red in the coming hours. A loud horn cut through the early morning air, the signal that the attack was to commence. The soldiers began to march towards the castle. The horn also had a mobilizing effect on the undead as they too began to stir, shuffling mindlessly towards the sound.
“Now, Artas,” Ganry commanded, and Artas brought his own horn to his lips, blowing a long deep note.
“I think the witches have learned their lesson from the last time,” Riley said as the undead ignored the sound of Artas’s horn. Instead, they continued on with a relentless march towards the castle.
“No matter,” Ganry replied. “We can still surprise them from the rear, finish off these abominations, then finally lay into these Mirneans.”
Riley nodded his agreement and gave the orders to the Palaran soldiers. As one, they all drew their weapons. The advance began first on the ranks of the undead.
***
Queen Myriam fastened the buckles on the last of her armor with the help of one of her ladies in waiting. This had been Queen Beatrice’s armor, one of her ancestors who had worn it in the great wars of the North. It had lain in wait for more than two hundred years, but it felt right to Myriam, and it fit her well. Her kingdom was under threat, and the D’Anjue royal family had always fought to protect what is theirs. She would be no different.
Despite Ganry’s insistence, she would not hide away in the cellars with the women and children and the elderly and infirm. She was a D’Anjue, her place was with her Royal Guard. A sword was chosen from the walls of the armory. Not a heavy broadsword, but a smaller, thinner double edged weapon. It balanced well in her hand. She twirled her arm, her sword cutting through the air in sweeping arcs, first one way then the other. Yes, this was a good sword, fit to be carried by a Queen.
She had insisted that her Grandmother stay below ground and away from the fighting, saying the Duchess was too old for battle and would only be in the way. Besides, she had told her to keep up the morale of the women and children of the castle, who would be in hiding with her. She would also organize treatment for the wounded and food for everyone. The Duchess had agreed and Myriam felt relieved that her grandmother would be safe, at least while the castle walls stood.
Myriam sheathed her sword and left the armory. She took the stairs direct to the battlements where many of her Guards were preparing for the imminent attack. As she stepped onto the ramparts, her commanders all bowed respectfully before her. They had all come to admire this young Queen who had brought their kingdom together after the coup, and saved the royal Duchess from the Akkedis lizard people. It renewed their hope to see her dressed in the royal armor, ready to fight by their side.
Myriam stepped forward to greet her men, but before she could say anything, a loud blaring horn cut through the morning air.
The battle had begun.
35
The wolves came to a stop and circled the giant who carried Cronos. Rochmyr lifted the boy off his shoulders and set him on the ground. Once his feet were firmly on the wet grass, he stroked at the wolf’s head. Torno licked at his hand.
“I will need a few moments,” he said out loud to the wolves.
They whinnied and growled low as they made a protective formation around him. He sat on the grass and rubbed at the green blades, making his contact with nature. As he closed his eyes, he could see an image of Ganry on the battlefield, ready to attack the enemy. He wished that no more had to die, on either side. But he knew that while the witches were free to spread their evil, this would not end. For this, he hated the witches and all that they stood for. Cronos had not comprehended his full powers yet, but he had a strong connection with mother nature. It was she who gave him the visions, and as the trees witnessed Ganry, so could he. They had a special connection, one he could not yet fully understand or control.
Slowly, he moved his thoughts away from the battlefield and tried to spread the scope of his visions. The witches were not yet on the battlefield. They would be in hiding, probably in the forest. He concentrated hard, trying to imagine the differing landscapes that surrounded him. Scanning the huge canopy of trees that had stood in these forests for hundreds of years, trying to see what they could bring to his vision, but nothing came to him.
A fog was blocking out his visions. Feeling frustration at not being able to widen his visual perception, he suddenly found himself flying above the ground. It seemed he was on the back of a large black bird. No, he was seeing through the eyes of the bird as it swooped and flew over the forest canopy. Now he could see for miles.
To his right, the massed army of the Mirneans surrounded the castle, and directly below him, the ancient forests of Palara swayed in the breeze. As he concentrated harder, he discovered that he had the power to direct the bird’s mind, making it fly wherever he wished it to go. The bird’s tiny brain offered no resistance to his commands as he directed the creature to swoop lower over the tree tops.
He controlled the bird for almost an hour, time passing by quickly as he desperately searched for the witches. Although Cronos was not physically flying, mentally it was very tiring trying to keep a connection with the bird. Exhaustion seeped over him, and he had almost let the bird go when he spotted an area on the ground that didn’t look right. It was almost as if it were submerged in water, as the terrain wavered around. With one last effort, he directed the bird to fly down to investigate the anomaly. The bird circled lower and lower, until it perched on a tree inside the strange area.
The witches did not give the bird a second thought as it landed and perched on one of the branches high in a tree. With a powerful spell cast on the area they occupied, it distorted the light waves making it impossible to see within. They felt secure in their illusion.
Yet, a little boy named Cronos had found them, thanks to his feathered friend. The bird had landed inside the witches base of operations. The place from where they were directing the attacks. He could see that they were formed in a seated circle, performing some sort of ritual. A faint chanting came to him via the birds hearing, but he could not make out any of the archaic words.
“I’ve found them,” he said to the wolves. “I’m not sure what you want me to do, or even if I can do anything?” he questioned.
Grecia approached him in her wolf form and she spoke to his mind directly with her thoughts. Well, little pup, it seems it’s your turn now. Don’t arouse their suspicions. I want you to lead us there. Can you do that?
The boy nodded and animated his body to stand so his giant protector, Rochmyr, could put him back on his shoulder. It was not an easy task keeping the bird perched on the tree watching the witches and animating his body. Once settled, Rochmyr strode off through the woods, his long legs striding out to cover the ground quickly. The bird had played his part and the boy freed it. Coming back into his own body, he could now sense exactly where they were going and were now close by. As he broke his contact, he saw the bird soaring into the air, confused as to how its hunt for food had taken it so far from its nest.
In a few minutes, they burst into a clearing that at first seemed empty. All Rochmyr could see was a glen, bereft of trees and vegetation. Instead, there were large rocks with a sandy ground. It seemed barren and deserted. Yet, even the giant knew something was amiss. When he rubbed his eyes and opened them again, he could see a shimmering essence just off the ground, as if the landscape had no substance.
Grecia was leading the wolf pack and she was not fooled by the illusion. Quickly, they ran into the area and broke the circle of magic, attacking the witches where they sat. They had been taken completely by surprise, confident in their own ability to hide themselves, but they had underestimated the boy and his power.
Grecia jumped upon the female in the center, the one who had approached the castle. This, she felt, was their present leader. Leaping her full wolf body, she knocked the witch onto her back with her jaws snapping at the exposed throat, looking for a quick kill. Suddenly, the witch was no more, instead a huge powerful bear was in its place. The witch had shape shifted in seconds, and it caught Grecia by surprise. With a huge roar the bear grabbed the female wolf by the front legs and swung it around before releasing the furry body. Grecia flew across the forest floor and crashed into the trunk of a tree, winding her and leaving her barely conscious.
Cronos knew immediately that the female leader of the wolf people was in danger as the bear approached her, looking to finish her off while she was winded.
“Rochmyr, quickly, Grecia needs your help,” Cronos whispered into the ear of his giant guardian.
Rochmyr was uncertain what to do. He did not want to take the boy into the battle. He had been instructed to keep him away from danger. Besides, the shape changing bear was almost upon Grecia and he would never cover the ground in time.
You can save her. A voice whispered inside Cronos’s head. For a moment, the boy’s face crunched in a puzzled frown. Then he opened his eyes wide and smiled. He knew what he had to do. Sitting on his lofty perch on Rochmyr’s shoulders, he closed his eyes to the world and focused his thoughts upon Grecia.
The bear was almost grabbing for her, its teeth bared and claws extended ready to make the kill. With a triumphant roar, it raised high on its hind legs, readying itself to drop onto the prone wolf. Its triumphant roar soon turned to a frustrated cry as Grecia suddenly disappeared. The bear was confused, for the witch knew that the wolves were not capable of this type of magic. Yet the wolf had vanished into thin air right before her eyes.
Grecia could see the bear advancing through her heavy eye lids. The force of the throw and then the collision with the tree had taken her breath completely away. She was unable to move. Baring her teeth at the approaching bear, determined to leave her mark on her assassin, she felt a rush of warmth spread throughout her body, like a soothing elixir. She immediately knew this was Cronos. Yet she could not understand what was happening. The look of malicious joy on the bear’s face soon turned to one of puzzlement, and then frustration. Cronos’s voice came into the wolf’s head, whispered to Grecia.
It’s alright, she cannot see you, but lay very still.
Somehow the boy had managed to make her body disappear. She could still feel herself, and knew that she was in exactly the same spot where she had landed. Somehow, the bear could not see her. It stood roaring in its anger. Cronos had made her invisible.
Furious at her prey being taken from right in front of her, the bear turned around looking for something else to vent its anger on.
Making the most of her invisibility, with her strength quickly returning, Grecia launched an attack on the bear as it moved away. Running after it she leapt on to its back, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh at the back of its neck, looking to bite right through the spinal column.
While Grecia fought with the shape changing witch, the other wolves attacked the remaining witches in this coven. The witches fought back, using their magical crafts, but they were no match for the wolves of Palara. Soon, most of the witches lay on the ground, throats torn open and their life’s blood staining the forest floor.
The bear felt an agonizing pain and knew what had happened. Somehow, the wolf had become invisible, and now it was on her back looking to end her life. The bear desperately tried to throw the wolf off, bucking and writhing around, but Grecia’s grip was firm, her teeth clenched against the bear’s backbone.
The bear was tiring as it fought with the wolf, its strength waning with every effort it made. With horror, the shape changing witch realized that death was close. She made one last effort to save herself, slamming her back against a tree to crush the wolf between her and the trunk. Grecia, winded once again, loosened her grip and slipped off the bear’s back.
The bear ran, angry at her fellow witches for allowing their magic circle to be infiltrated by a mere boy. She was furious with herself for underestimating him. How had the boy discovered his magic skills so quickly? The Emperor’s son was crucial to their plans. Without his blood and sacrifice, they could not raise their powerful mistress from her banishment. Running deep into the woods to search out other witches who were in hidden camps, the leader needed to regroup. Things were not going as planned. Ravyyne knew that it should all be over by now, resulting in her mistress’s return. The almighty Queen Thalia should be taking her rightful place as ruler of all these lands.
36
Myriam was not unfamiliar with the use of a sword, and she was determined to stand by her soldiers in the heat of battle. Her advisers had warned her, countless times, that she should not be risking herself, as leader of her kingdom. Yet how can a Queen expect her people to defend their land if she was not willing to do the same?
She had first learned how to use a sword to defend herself at the time of the coup, when her uncle had usurped the king, her father, and had taken over the kingdom. He had murdered her parents and would have done the same to her if he could have found her.
As a Princess, her life had been in danger, and she had been on the run for many months. After she had regained the throne for the house of D’Anjue, she had traveled to the neighboring lands of Vandemland, to rescue her kidnapped grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue. They had battled with the Akkedis lizard creatures who lived underground. No, she was no stranger to combat and danger. Her life had been full of it, and thanks to Ganry, her personal bodyguard and trainer, her sword skills were well honed.
The Mirnean soldiers were relentless. It seemed no matter how many fell under the onslaught of arrows, they still kept coming forward and climbing over their fallen comrades to get over the castle walls. Further afield, the enemy had trebuchets—large catapults—and were firing heavy stones at the castle walls, but so far they had been unable to breach them.
Further around on the east side of the castle, the Mirneans had put ladders against the walls. They climbed them constantly to try to gain entry onto the battlements. Many were pushed over sending those on the ladders to their deaths on the rocky ground below. There were too many and soon Mirnean soldiers were on the battlement in hand to hand combat with the Palaran defenders.
Myriam found herself face to face with a huge Mirnean attacker who towered over her. He held a large broadsword, so big, even he had to use two hands to maneuver it. With a malicious smile on his face, he advanced on Myriam. He couldn’t believe his luck, the Queen of the Palarans on the battlements, undefended. She was a mere slip of a girl, and she was his for the taking. He swung his great broadsword back, and brought it crashing down where Myriam stood.
Only Myriam was no longer there. She had seen his moves coming and balancing herself on the balls of her feet, she twisted first one way, then the other. As the sword had come crashing down, she had thrust her own sword into the gap in her opponent’s armor. The sharp point of the blade slipped easily between the metal and into the attackers abdomen. As she withdrew her sword, it was tinged red with the large Mirnean’s blood.
The Mirnean warrior cried out in pain and dropped to one knee. As the blade was withdrawn, a look of shock was imprinted on his face. In his arrogance and eagerness, he realized he had underestimated this little girl. In frustration, he shouted out his battle cry and swung his heavy sword at Myriam, but again she was no longer in the same spot. Still on one knee, the Mirnean lost his balance and toppled over onto his back.
Myriam knew instinctively that this was her moment to finish him off. He was on his back with the heavy armor weighing him down, making it difficult for him to get back up. She quickly darted under his flailing sword and thrust her own weapon into his neck, the blade easily cutting into the flesh and sinew, then exiting through the other side. A gush of bright red blood spurted and bubbled from the warrior’s mouth as he convulsed in his throes of death.
Myriam felt relief flood over her, but it was tinged with a sadness. She had killed a man with her own hands. Despite the fact that it was his intention to kill her, she still felt a terrible guilt. Watching, horrified, as he gurgled out the last of his breath, she felt a hot sting on her leg. Quickly she turned to see another Mirnean soldier had slashed at her, cutting between the joint at her thigh and hip. A sticky, warm wetness ran down her leg. The wound was deep and painful. That was one thing Ganry could not teach her, how to cope with pain.
She fell backwards onto the ground, blood flowing freely from her wound. The Mirnean soldier, certain of his kill, advanced on her with his sword raised. Her own weapon had fallen from her reach. She had no strength left to lift the blade in defense anyway. As she braced herself for the fatal blow, at the very last moment a Palaran Guard, moving in a blur, ran his sword through her attacker’s chest, and he fell to the ground, dead.
“Come, my Queen, you are in need of rest and someone should look at that leg. It bleeds heavily,” her rescuer said.
As he spoke, a few men crowded around and helped her down the stairway of the castle turrets. The man returned to the fighting and she hoped he would live to see this through. He had just saved her life.
The children who were hiding away ran to gather around her curiously.
“Who was that man?” she asked, hoping to remember him.
“He is just a farmer,” one child answered.
“I know him, he is in the neighboring farm to me,” a small girl said, her big eyes wide open, happy she could help the Queen. “He is Pedro Langley. He is not just any farmer, he has a pig farm.”
Myriam nodded at the information. If she lived through this, she would seek out Pedro Langley the pig farmer, to thank him properly.
The children held her up so she could hobble to the medical area. Here, her grandmother and other women were busy patching up the wounded. She could also smell cooking. It seemed odd, the smell of food, but no doubt it was a warming broth to keep up the strength of those who passed through.
The children helped her gently to the floor, her back to a wall so she could sit up. Smiling, she watched them as they ran off, eager to play their part in the grown up battle. Myriam waited her turn to be fixed. Maybe she could go back again once she was bandaged. Someone handed her a cup of steaming broth and she took it willingly. Her own strength was weakening. Looking at her leg, she could see a round pool of redness on the floor. She was losing blood fast.
“Myriam!” her grandmother cried, seeing her granddaughter in such a bad way. “Help me get the Queen inside. She’s losing blood too quickly,” her voice echoed in Myriam’s head, seeming to be a distance away as if it was echoing down a tunnel. Myriam tried to concentrate on the voice but her vision spun, and she soon slipped into unconsciousness.
Two women lifted her slumped frame and carried her to a quieter room. The Duchess D’Anjue set about caring for her granddaughter. She could not afford to lose her. Who would rule in her place? Besides, she happened to have a lot of love for this girl, who had bravely rescued her from a barren desert land.
The Duchess quickly took off Myriam’s armor. The wound was indeed deep and the Duchess felt out of her league. She knew she would need to stem the blood flow, and do it quickly before the Queen bled to death.
Making up a tourniquet, she ordered one of the women to go and find a healer. They had a number of skilled healers in the castle, although she wished their good friend Hendon was here. He would know what to do. Busying herself in cleaning the wound, she put the thought of death out of her mind. Her granddaughter could not die, it was not an option. As she worked, uncontrollable tears trickled down her cheeks, blurring her sight. In her attempt to tie the tourniquet to temporarily stop the blood flow, she looked at Myriam’s pale features and contemplated the unthinkable. Was she going to lose her granddaughter? Was the kingdom going to lose its young Queen?
37
As the battle raged in front of them, Ganry ordered the men to move stealthily towards the walking corpses. They were slower moving than the Mirnean soldiers who had become separated from them. Oblivious to all around them, they simply shifted on in their single purpose of moving forward. With no hearing or sense, they had not heard nor were they aware that their attackers were coming up on them from the rear.
They were easy prey, with only one simple purpose, to march towards the castle and push upon its gates. Occasionally they might stop if they sense living meat, though they could not recognize the Mirnean soldiers as meat, because the witches had protected them. Ganry and his men laid into them with sword and axe. There seemed little reaction from them, and when they did smell the meat of the Palarans who were attacking them, it was far too late. Already more than half their number were in a heap on the ground with heads detached from bodies. The rest, slow moving and cumbersome, were soon dispatched the same way.
Ganry gathered the men together, surrounded by the fallen corpses. It would prove an eerie sight should an outsider look in on them; a group of men surrounded by decapitated bodies.
“The next stage will be harder,” Ganry told them. “If we are swift with our attack, I believe we will be successful.” He tried to rally the men, who were still a little shocked at their experience with walking corpses. Nothing can prepare a man for that type of work. It did not help that many were kinsman, neighboring farmers and herdsmen of Palara.
“Stay under cover as long as possible,” Ganry continued with his instructions. “Swoop in and kill as many as you can before retreating back again. Remember, the forest is your friend, it will help you evade capture. Once it is clear, then attack again. Don’t let them settle. The longer they are looking over their shoulders then the slower their advance. We cannot win this war with these tactics, but we can slow them down, giving the boy and the wolves time to find the witches.”
Ganry gave the men time for his orders to sink in to their weary minds. He could see doubt on their faces, but he knew he could trust them. These were the best the Palaran army had. They would fight to the death.
“Artas, Riley, I want you two to lead the men. Remember what I said: strike and retreat. Don’t get bogged down in long battles, you will soon be outnumbered and overrun. This is about causing chaos and fear in the ranks of the Mirneans.”
“What of you?” Riley asked, though he already knew the answer.
“I work better alone. Besides, I have a personal matter to attend to.”
With the plan finally settled, the men were prepared to go their separate ways. Artas and Ganry embraced before they left each other.
“Take care, Ganry,” Artas said in a low, somber tone. “You still have much to teach me.”
“And take care yourself, young Artas,” Ganry replied, smiling. “Even I cannot teach a corpse.”
Taking his sword and a small backpack, Ganry set off alone, moving quickly into the cover of the trees.
Artas watched him go with a heavy heart. He had grown fond of Ganry over the last few years. He looked up to him as a father figure, especially after the death of his own father at the hands of the usurper, Duke Harald. He could not help but feel, deep down inside, that he would never see his mentor again. He shrugged off the feeling of doom that had descended upon him and turned to the men awaiting his orders.
“You heard, let’s go give them hell!” he yelled, raising his sword in the air as his fighting spirit returned.
The guards split into small groups of ten or so and advanced on the enemy. The invaders were completely unaware of the danger approaching them. They were so embroiled in the battle before them, surrounding the castle walls. The Mirneans had much success over the last few days, easily sweeping across Palara with little or no resistance. They had become overconfident, believing they were untouchable, especially with the protection of the witches. They were soon to be shaken from that belief.
Artas and his men were almost upon the enemy, still with the element of surprise. Silently, with no rally cry, the men fell upon the Mirneans, slashing and hacking at them, until many were lying dead or wounded on the ground. The surprise attack had increased the effectiveness of their fight. As the enemy became aware of the attacking Palarans at the rear, they attempted to surround them.
“Fall back,” Artas shouted. “Fall back. We will come at them from another direction.”
They fought a rear guard action as they quickly retreated to the protection of the dense forest that lined the battlefield. A few of the Mirnean soldiers followed them into the trees, but they were soon cut down. On seeing none of their numbers return from the forest, the rest of the Mirneans returned to their ranks, concentrating on the castle attack.
“Let’s move along the creek and come at them from the left,” he shouted at the men who followed him through the forest.
This was done with good success, and very little loss to their own ranks. They attacked swiftly from one point before spiriting away back into the protection of the forest, and then emerging elsewhere to inflict more damage. They may not be able to win the battle with this strategy, but it was causing confusion and chaos in the ranks of the Mirneans. The enemy were constantly on the lookout behind them, expecting and anticipating an attack.
On one of their sorties into the rear of the attackers, Riley spotted two witches arriving on the battlefield. He was uncertain of their purpose, and had no doubt that it did not bode well. As they knelt down on the grass, he assumed they were summoning a spell to assist their own side of the battle. Quickly, joining Artas and helping him dispatch a couple of the enemy, he pointed out the witches to him.
“Damn, I knew this was going too well. Whatever evil they have planned, we should try and stop them.”
Both men quickly advanced upon the witches. As they both felt that speed was more important than stealth, they threw caution to the wind and moved rapidly towards the conniving witches. Barely halfway to the witches’ position, they felt a shuddering terror as the skies loomed with an ominous darkness. Heavy black clouds blocked out the sun. The atmosphere changed as it became dark and foreboding, with an evil heaviness hanging in the air. From nowhere, all heard a huge crack of thunder, followed by a bright lightning strike that cracked against the walls of the castle, sending stone splinters flying into the air. When the smoke cleared, a large hole had appeared in the castle walls.
Both men looked at each other, aghast. They could see that the witches were once again summoning a spell, and they increased their pace to try and stop them before it was too late. As they drew closer, Artas yelled out a battle cry and raised his sword in attack. He hoped to distract the spell casters, but one of the witches saw him coming and flicked her wrist in his direction. A bright blue light flashed from her finger tips and crashed into his sword, sending shockwaves through his entire body. For a moment he stood, frozen by the blast, before his legs buckled and he crumpled to the floor.
Artas’s battle cry had attracted the attention of other Palaran Guards, and on seeing the witches, they too charged at them with swords drawn. Every man’s intention was to cut them down right where they stood. Soon the witches were surrounded by the guards, who hacked into them mercilessly. These were not humans, they were abominations who had risen the dead, and threatened the very survival of their kingdom. They showed them no mercy, gave them no quarter.
Riley ran directly to Artas, fearing the worst as he saw his friend’s motionless body on the ground.
“Artas, Artas, my friend. Are you still with us?” he cried, hopefully.
“Yes, Riley,” he managed to croak. “I still live, but I’m blinded by the damn witches. I can’t see anything.”
Riley smiled in relief. He and Artas had become good friends and he would mourn his passing, deeply. He reached down and helped a shaken Artas to his feet.
“You’ll have to leave me somewhere, Riley. I can’t see. I’m just going to hinder you,” Artas said with some urgency to his comrade.
“I’m going to take you back to the castle tunnel. You need the help of the wolves for this one,” Riley told him.
One of the Palaran Guards brought a horse they had found wandering. Its rider was probably lying dead on the battlefield. As Artas stood, he felt Riley pushing him to mount the horse. Once he was certain that Artas was secure in the saddle, he climbed up behind him and directed the horse into the woods. There, they could make it to the hidden tunnels that led into the castle.
He spurred the horse to ride swiftly, but it was already exhausted from the trials of the day. Riley was an experienced horse rider and knew how far he could push his mount. Luckily, they did not have far to go to get to where the guards watched the concealed tunnel entrance.
“You there!” Riley shouted to one of the guards as they approached. “Take Artas into the castle, he needs the healers. I’m going to look for a wolf to come and treat him. He’s been blinded by witchcraft. Take good care of him.”
The guard nodded as he recognized Artas, one of the Queen’s companions. Every soldier in Palara knew of Artas and how he had returned injured from a quest to find the dragons. They all knew him for the hero he was. Watching as the other man swiftly rode off on a fresher horse, he assisted Artas down the tunnel and into the castle.
His part in the battle was over, for now.
38
Cronos, still on Rochmyr’s back, moved deeper and deeper into the woods with the wolves following by their side. They had to find the witch woman and stop this death and destruction. He was sure she was the main source of power. If they cut her down, then the others may fall too. He’d ordered the giant, Rochmyr, to chase after the bear when she had made her escape. They must not lose her. Bumping up and down on Rochmyr’s shoulders, he encouraged him to go faster. They must find her at all costs.
They were near, he could sense her. Unsure if he would be powerful enough to take her on, he hadn’t really given it much thought, up until now. Nonetheless, he had to try.
A feeling of dread swept over him. It seemed as if the very air had changed and was tinged with an evil presence. The giant let out a long mournful wail before staggering slightly, then dropping to his knees. He knelt for a brief second, then fell forward onto the hardened ground, throwing Cronos off his shoulders.
Rochmyr was unconscious and Cronos knew exactly why. It was her, it must have been. Luckily, just as the boy was picking himself up from the ground, Torno, his wolf protector, arrived.
He climbed onto the broad back of the large, long haired wolf. Torno sniffed at Rochmyr to see how he was fairing. He had grown fond of his comrade.
“Fear not, he only sleeps. The witch has enchanted him.”
Reaching down Cronos brushed his hand over the giant’s forehead, lovingly.
“Sleep my friend, we will be back for you.”
The hairs on the wolf’s back bristled. He growled deeply from his throat at the thick bushes before them.
“Yes, Torno, I sense her, too,” Cronos said. “Let’s go hunt her down.”
Torno entered the dense area of shrubs. A bear that size could not hide itself easily. Whilst the witch had managed to cast a spell on the giant, she would not find it so easy on Torno. His magic bloodline would protect him against almost anything she could conjure. He was not afraid of her. She had to be stopped, here and now. This was the best opportunity they had.
That is my thinking also. Cronos said in Torno’s mind as he read the wolf’s thoughts. We may never get this close to her again. Let’s find her, quickly. I’ll know what to do once she’s in my grasp.
They did not need to go in search of the bear, as it found them. The witch, known as Ravyyne, stepped out from the undergrowth in front of Cronos and the wolf. She stood on her hind legs and towered over the wolf and boy, her mouth open in a deep rumbling roar, sharpened teeth bared ready for the kill. She knew this was the perfect opportunity to grab the child. One lone wolf could not stop her when she had such strength as a bear.
Without warning, she sprang at the wolf, claws extended. She hoped to make a quick kill and take off with the boy. But Torno was too quick for her large, slow moving body. He easily evaded her swinging paws and ducked under her lunge, Cronos still firmly upon his back.
I’m going to get off, Torno, the boy communicated, in his mind. We’ll fight better apart. Then she has two opponents. You keep her distracted for as long as you can. I have a plan.
No. The wolf was not happy with this idea. Stay on my back. I want you where I can protect you.
Too late, the boy had already slid off the wolf’s back and was running into the thick bushes. Ravyyne saw this as a good opportunity to kill the wolf and she lunged again. Torno reared up and sunk his teeth into the bear’s chest as the beast landed on him. The pair rolled around, wrestling with jaws and claws. Both making deadly growling noises as they each attempted to rip and slash at the other’s body.
Cronos searched for the prickliest bush he could find. He willed it to open up its branches so he could climb and hide within. From his vantage point, he closed his eyes and was soon witnessing the fighting wolf and bear through his mind. Both creatures were covered in sore red patches of blood, both inflicting terrible injuries to each other. He must work quickly.
Torno had an opening and he lunged on to the back of the bear. He sunk his teeth into its neck, growing wildly as he did so, and hanging on to it by his long claws. Soon it shook him off, but he was succeeding in tiring it with his constant lunges and bites. Where was the boy and what was he up to?
As Torno fell to the ground, the bear was instantly upon him, ripping at his torso with the razor sharp claws, slicing through his skin. The burning sting of her claws was excruciating, but he must fight on, he must stop this witch from getting ahold of the boy. Where were the others? Hadn’t they sensed his need of help?
I need you to get out of there, now, the boy’s voice rang in his head. His voice was firm and insistent.
Torno could hear a strange sound, a loud humming noise, and it was getting closer. As he managed to pull himself away from the bear, he could see a large, dark shadow in the sky, and it was coming their way. The bear was oblivious to it. So intent was she on killing the wolf, she was ignorant of all around her, until it was too late. The wolf did as he had been instructed and with all the remaining strength he could muster, he darted into the undergrowth.
He expected the bear to be instantly upon him, but he could not feel its presence and he heard no heavy footsteps behind him. Swiftly he turned around to see where the bear had got to, or even worse, had it gone to get the boy from his hiding spot. The bear was still in the same place he had left him, but what he saw shocked him. How? Where had they come from?
The bear was staggering around the clearing, batting its paws at a dark swarm that had surrounded it. It took a moment for Torno to realize that the creature was being attacked by bees, seemingly millions of them. The battle was completely one sided as the bear was enveloped by the stinging, flying insects. It staggered about the clearing, growling and snapping at the deadly attackers, as it battled vainly for its life. Finally overcome, it dropped to its knees, and with one last mournful wail it fell forward onto its face, and lay on the forest floor completely still.
She was poisoned by the venom of bees.
Changing back into his human form, Torno observed the bees blanketing the bear and the ground around it. There were so many of them carpeting the forest floor that it seemed to take on a life of its own, as if the ground were moving.
A small hand took his own. He looked down to see Cronos by his side.
“I do not have the strength of a warrior, but I have many, many friends,” he said smiling at Torno, who smiled back at him.
The bees lifted as if they were one single entity. The dark cloud flew into the skies again, dispersing once it was above the canopy of the forest.
A female human body lay upon the floor in the place of the bear. Swollen and red, her entire body was covered in tiny seeping lumps. The bees had poisoned the witch. Even witches were not immune to nature and her protectors.
39
Ganry desperately wanted this day of battles to end, but he knew that further deaths were inevitable before that could happen. Hopefully, the wolves and the boy would find and kill the witch, but it was up to him to find Jeon and put an end to this madness.
Ganry moved through the camp with ease, no one challenging him. They were all too busy as the battle raged around them. His clothing was plain and unmarked. He could easily pass for a mercenary, on either side.
It was not going too well for the Palarans, especially with the witches’ trickery. There was a gaping hole in the battlements of the castle wall from the lightning strike. He hoped Myriam was safe inside. Still, the Mirneans were suffering their own dreadful losses, their hospital tents full of the wounded, with many dead littering the battlefield.
Jeon was nowhere to be seen. As the main commander of this battle, Ganry would have expected him to be in the thick of it, commanding his troops. The old Jeon he knew would have been. He fought many battles by his side in the past. Keeping his head down and trying to blend in, Ganry searched for his nemesis.
***
General Jeon had just finished a consultation with the witches in the forest and was riding back to the battlefield. All was going well. The Palarans were trapped inside the castle. The witches had tricks that would turn the course of this fight in their favor. They were a powerful ally, not ones you would want as an enemy.
Briefly, he felt a pang of sorrow for the death and destruction that would be meted out today. Many would die, but it was too late to turn back now. He had come too far, sold his very soul to the witches so he could have his son returned to him. They promised him his boy, exactly as he remembered him, and not as some walking shell like the monstrosities that had been risen for the purpose of this war.
Ganry had lied when he said his son would not be the same, How could he know anyway? He had to believe that his son would be normal, or all this was for nothing.
He hated meeting the witches. Getting so close to them made his skin crawl and he always felt debased afterwards. They were a means to an end; an end which was finally in sight. Entering the camp, his spirits were lifted by the thought that it was almost over. Once reunited with his son, they would go somewhere and start a new life.
Glancing across the camp, the General felt a shudder down his spine as he saw a familiar figure. He knew it was him the minute he saw him, even from a distance, and he knew why he was here. He knew that Ganry was looking for revenge for the death of his family. He had not personally killed them, but he had ordered it to be done.
Just for a fleeting moment, he considered calling for a guard to take him down. Jeon knew that this fight would be to the death. Something stopped him, perhaps it was a lingering respect for his old comrade, or maybe it was the driving urge he had to exact his own revenge for his son’s death, of which he held Ganry responsible.
“Ganry de Rosenthorn, you have entered the lion’s den. Prepare to meet your fate,” he shouted.
***
Ganry suspected that the General was not in the camp. Moving towards the forest, where he was to link up with the wolves, he was stopped dead in his tracks by a familiar voice crying out a challenge.
Ganry turned and faced General Jeon, still mounted on his horse with a look of triumph plastered on his face.
“I intended to kill you, once everything you held dear was dead. I wanted you to feel my wrath before I finally put an end to your miserable existence. I yearn to see the look of despair on your face as the Emperor’s son, who you have tried so hard to protect, is sacrificed to the witches. And when that foolish child Queen, who you hold in such esteem, is lying dead in the castle. Tell me, Ganry, does she remind you of your daughter? They would be about the same age, wouldn’t they? I will enjoy taking this daughter from you, too.”
The General’s final remark cut deep. This from the man who had allowed the slaughter of his wife and daughter, purely because of his own grief. Today was a day of reckoning, and while deep down he felt that this may be his last, Ganry knew with a certainty he would have his revenge before it was over.
“You’re an old fool, Jeon. The witches have played you to their advantage. They have no intention of returning your son as he was. Not even the mightiest of witches or wizards could do that. He is gone, moved on to another place where there is no return. I think you probably know that yourself deep down inside.”
As Ganry spoke, the hatred for the man before him swelled up inside of the General. He would listen to no more lies. Digging his spurs cruelly into the horse’s side, he charged at Ganry, his sword before him, intent on cutting him down where he stood.
As the large dappled horse neared him, Ganry waited till the very last minute, watching closely as the General’s sword readied itself to strike him. Just before it did, Ganry swiftly twisted his body sideways and the sword harmlessly passed by his head. He swung his own weapon in an upward motion, aiming for the midriff of the General. His aim was true, but the General’s heavy armor repelled the blade. Ganry felt the sword jar in his hands as metal hit metal. There was no fatal blow, but at least he would have winded him.
“You are a coward!” Ganry called after him as the horse rode away a short distance. “A murderer of women and children!”
The horse charged again, doing its master’s bidding. This time, Jeon tried to knock Ganry to the ground by charging the horse into him. Again, leaving it until the very last second, Ganry spun away to one side, lunging at the General as he rode past and knocking him off his horse. He fell on Ganry and they rolled over together. Quickly, they jumped apart, each going for their own weapons. They stood facing each other, breathing heavily, both a little disoriented from the fall. Their eyes were locked on to one another, neither daring to take their gaze away, both with eyes filled with hatred for the other.
“My son would be here today if not for you,” Jeon grunted in anger.
“Your son was a fool and I was not his babysitter. He was constantly in trouble and you know it,” Ganry replied. “But you, you murdered my family to soothe your own grief.”
“You needed to feel what it’s like for a father to lose a child. I taught you a lesson,” Jeon grunted again.
Unnoticed by either of them, a crowd was growing around the two men. Mirnean soldiers were attracted to the fracas, their attack on the castle momentarily forgotten as they watched their General fight with an unknown man.
Ganry threw down his sword. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” he cried, lunging at Jeon.
Jeon threw down his own weapons and readied himself to fight in hand to hand combat with the man he hated. “For the memory of my son, I will finish you once and for all.”
Neither of them was aware of the gathering crowd. They had only one goal, to kill each other. For the General it had been a long awaited ambition. Now they were together, nothing would keep them apart.
They charged at each other, both big men, strong veterans of battle. Fighting hand to hand, they wrestled each other to the floor. Each one landed blows on the other. Heavy hard fists crunched into tissue and bone. Each one attempting to gain some advantage.
Ganry was slightly younger and stronger than the General, who was fading fast, his strength lessening each minute they grappled. He was beginning to regret his foolishness in agreeing to hand to hand with Ganry. A sudden blow struck him on the side of the head, rocking his entire body. He knew it was over. Yet, he knew he had one last throw of the dice. Pulling a hidden dagger from behind his back, he rammed it into Ganry’s side, all the way to the hilt.
Ganry felt a sharp pain in his ribs and broke away from Jeon. Quickly, getting to his feet, he reached around to his side to feel a sticky wetness. He knew it was his blood. The traitor had stabbed him. He could feel his own strength slipping away as the blood poured from the wound. Ganry knew if it was not tended to, it would be fatal.
Jeon circled Ganry, a sinister smile pasted on his face. He now had the better of him. Sure, he had cheated, but that was his right, to avenge the death of his son.
As Jeon circled his opponent, readying to strike the final blow, he noticed a silence around him. He quickly glanced at the field. He’d been so wrapped up in his personal battle, that he’d forgotten more was at stake here today.
The soldiers had stopped fighting. There were no witches and no walking corpses to be seen anywhere.
Ganry also surveyed the area. On the edge of the forest he could see the boy and the giant, surrounded by the wolves. It could only mean one thing, the witches were dead.
“It’s over Jeon, the witches are no more. They are not going to bring your son back, not that I ever thought they could. Lay down your weapon. It is time for you to atone for your crimes.”
The General looked around, he could not believe it had all gone wrong. Ganry was not lying this time. It was no bluff, the witches were gone, the boy had triumphed over them. Everything he had planned, his hopes for a life with his son, had been cruelly wrenched from him. All because of the man who stood before him. Jeon had some satisfaction in watching the blood pour from Ganry’s wound. Hopefully a fatal wound. Ganry still had the strength to kill him and Jeon could see it in his eyes. He would not give him that last satisfaction.
“Nooo!” the General cried out.
Before anyone could move to stop him, he raised the dagger above his head, the same one he had stabbed Ganry with, and plunged it into his heart. For one brief moment his features softened as he looked at his mortal enemy. He dropped to his knees in front of Ganry, the dagger protruding from his chest. The light of life in his eyes disappeared and he fell face forward into the dirt.
40
It was finally over. The General was dead as were many of the witches, the rest running for their lives. Ganry collapsed to the ground, the loss of blood from the wound in his side finally taking its toll. He lay still, looking up at the deep blue sky, and thoughts of his beautiful fair haired wife came to mind. How he had loved Annabella and his daughter, Ruby. Remembering the day she was born brought a smile to his dry lips, and a tear to his sore eyes. If only he could be with them.
Perhaps it would be easier just to let go, here and now. The wound in his side was most certainly fatal, if not treated soon. He could easily let his life slip away, end it here, and join his family for all of eternity. Once he had lost his loved ones, his life had been a lonely one, until he met a princess. That princess was now a queen.
Memories of the queen shook him from his lethargy, as much as he wanted to let go, he knew that he still had a role to play. His Queen was relying on him. He needed to get to the castle and see how Myriam was fairing. He knew the walls had been breached. The magic of the witches had caused damage and some Mirnean soldiers had invaded the castle. He hoped that Myriam had been kept safe.
A strange silence had enveloped the battlefield. Was there some sort of witchcraft at play? Sitting up he could clearly see that the fighting had finished, the battle had ended. The Mirnean soldiers were walking around as if in a daze. To his right, he could see the prone body of General Jeon.
He tried to stand but his legs simply did not have the strength, and he fell back down onto his backside. With a monumental effort he pulled himself onto his hands and knees, determined to crawl to the castle, if that’s what was required.
“Ganry de Rosenthorn, you look quite the sight on all fours. Perhaps you have some wolf blood in you?”
Standing in front of him, with a smile on her face, was Grecia, in her human form.
“Come let me look at your wound. I can help.”
Ganry collapsed down and rolled over onto his back with the last of his strength. As he looked to his side, he could see the ground was stained a dark red with his blood, and lots of it. Perhaps he was going to get his wish after all and meet his wife and daughter in the afterlife.
Grecia moved over him and was shocked at his ashen face. He looked old, very old. She knew instantly that she had come only just in time. A few more minutes and there would have been nothing she could have done for him. Closing her eyes, she held her hand at Ganry’s side, pressing firmly into the area around of the wound, and started to chant. Repeating the same words over and over again, her face was a mask of concentration.
Ganry felt an incredible warmness sweep through him, a heat that started at his wound and emanated to the very extremities of his body. It revitalized him. The pain from his wound subsided and he felt strength return to his limbs.
“There, that should help,” Grecia told him. “You will still be weak for a while, you have lost much blood, but you will survive.”
Although she smiled at him, Ganry could tell that all the healing she must have done on this battlefield had taken much out of her. Her face was drawn and tired. He felt an immense fondness for this shapeshifter who had just saved his life.
A rider approached them on horseback. Whoever it was, was looking for him, and had now found him. Looking up, he recognized Riley.
“It is over, Ganry,” he informed him, excitedly. “The Mirneans have laid down their arms and are moving away from the castle. But the Queen is injured, and Artas is blinded. You must hurry, she’s asking for you.”
Ganry slowly got to his feet, amazed that he could stand at all. With Riley’s help he managed to climb onto the back of his horse. Looking back at Grecia, he called after her.
“I thank you for everything you have done. I thank you on behalf of our Queen, who I am sure will thank you herself when she can. The Wolves of Palara will be written into legend and forever revered.”
With that, Riley spurred on the horse and they quickly rode off. He could not lose Myriam now that the Mirneans were surrendering. The battle was over, she had won.
As they approached the castle, he saw the large gates had been opened and the townspeople were out helping the injured, of both sides. Once in the courtyard he gingerly dismounted the horse and headed straight for the royal quarters.
Riley, watching him go, was amazed to see him moving so freely. He had seen the blood on his clothing and on the ground where he lay, and had momentarily feared the worse. Dismounting the horse, he handed the reins to a stable hand and he followed Ganry into the castle.
Myriam had been placed in her own bedchamber, though when Ganry arrived she was sleeping from a potion. The Duchess greeted him.
“How does she fair?” he asked with urgency, still knowing nothing of her injuries.
“She took a deep injury to her leg, but she’s going to be fine. It looked bad at first but the healers have treated her. She lost a lot of blood and now needs to rest.” The Duchess paused, noticing Ganry’s condition for the first time. “It seems she’s not the only one to have lost much blood. Perhaps you should be resting too.”
“I’m fine. The wolf shaman, Grecia, has tended to my injuries. They are an amazing people. Our kingdom is deeply indebted to them.”
Ganry sat in a chair by her side and he noticed Artas asleep on a couch in the bedchamber. “How is he? I understand he, too, is injured badly.”
“It is a magic spell only, it will wear off. But until I speak to Grecia, I don’t know how long it will take. She will put him to rights when she has a moment to spare.”
“I think you might want to come and look at this, Ganry,” Riley said from his position by the window.
Ganry stood and went to the window, briefly pausing at Artas as he did. He was grateful that those he cared for had survived. Following Riley’s gaze, he looked upon a strange event.
The boy, Cronos, was seated upon the giant’s back, surrounded by Mirnean soldiers. All were kneeling in his presence. It was a curious sight, to see so many men prone in front of young child.
“I need to go speak to them,” he said to Riley, who nodded, ready to follow him. “I’ll be back when they wake up, Duchess. Thank you for caring for them. They both mean much to me.”
The Duchess smiled kindly at his words. “And me too, Ganry, me too.”
They left the chamber, making their way towards the assembled soldiers. Most of the wolf people had returned and were gathered by the gates, also watching the amazing scene unfold. Ganry approached Grecia to see what she could tell him.
The wolf shaman frowned at him as he approached. “You should be resting.”
“Yes, I know, but there is much to do. Time to rest later.”
He nodded at the strange scene before him. “He will make a good Emperor, one day. Hopefully his father Nestor still lives, but if not, I feel Mirnee will be in safe hands.”
Ganry said no more but walked closer to see exactly what was happening. As he approached the Mirneans, he felt a melodic tune rising from the soldiers. They were humming as one. The boy was seated high, perched on Rochmyr’s back, his arms stretched open and his eyes closed. Ganry looked at Riley, who had followed him to see if he could provide him with any answers.
“It is a long lost tradition after a battle, for the Emperor to heal the wounded, but it is a practice that hasn’t been seen in many years. The last few Emperors did not have the skill. If truth be told, most believed it to be folklore. It has not been seen for many generations. He is easing the pain of the injured and the grief of those who have lost friends in battle.”
“Yes, I remember such tales as a child,” Ganry said. “But, like you, I never really knew if they were true. It seems from what we see here today, it is.”
With an entire army bowing down for his blessing, it was indeed hard to imagine that an eight year old was held with such high reverence. Hopefully, this meant that Palara and Mirnee had many years of peace ahead of them.
41
It was decided that the Mirnean soldiers would keep the camp where it was for another night, before they returned to their own land. It was felt necessary to keep them separate from those they had just been fighting. Many Palarans had lost their lives, and forgiveness would not come easily. Rumors were spreading that the Mirneans had been entranced by the witches and had no idea of the atrocities committed. But, wounds were still raw and it was deemed best to keep the two kingdom folk apart.
By nightfall, a camp had appeared around the castle and all was peaceful and quiet. The Mirneans had been in much confusion once the witches had been killed. The spells held over them had dissipated, and each of them reported that they felt as if they were just waking up from a heavy trance. It seemed that their minds had not been their own. They were aware they had been ordered into battle, but they had no idea who they were fighting or even that they were in another kingdom.
No one was certain if this was true or not, although virtually as one entity, they had all laid down their arms once the witches were dead. Myriam, in her wisdom, decided that revenge was not the way forward. Enough had lost their lives and killing more would not change that.
The Queen lay in her bed, recovering from her wounds, with Ganry and Artas, her most trusted advisers, at either side. Artas’s blindness had been cured by Grecia and he was seeing again, much to his relief. Cronos stood at the end of her bed, informing the Queen of how the events of the last few months had really unfolded.
“I would ask one thing of you and your father, Cronos,” she said, once he had finished. “Do not let the witches gain such power ever again.”
“I understand how you feel, Queen Myriam,” he said, bowing his head in respect of her wishes. “Yet, controlled correctly, witchcraft can also have a good influence, such as healing.”
“One of my closest companions is a witch, of sorts, so I do understand that,” she smiled back at the boy. “Hendon is at one with nature. He uses his magic purely for good, to heal, to ease suffering, not to kill. His skills seem to me to be so different from the coven of witches who plotted against us.”
“My father will have much to think about, Queen Myriam, but you are right, we do need to have a better understanding and control of all magic.”
“It seems that magic is a fact of the world, and we must all learn to live with it. Controlled and harnessed for good, I believe it will benefit us all. Even Ganry, here, has been convinced of its existence, and never was there a truer skeptic.” Myriam smiled at Ganry, feeling now was the time to lighten the mood.
“I have seen much in the last few years, and seeing a human turn into an animal was perhaps the most startling,” Ganry said. “Our shape changers are truly magical creatures. We owe them much, both for the safety of the boy, and the death of the witches. Without them, this could have turned out so different.”
“I agree with you, and they will be honored, Ganry,” Myriam said at him. “But, we’ll save all the politics of this war for another day. For now, we need to recover and regroup. Also we need a celebration to cement out new ties with Mirnee, but first your army will need to retreat back across the border. Whilst many understand that they were bewitched, the wounds are too fresh for complete forgiveness, just yet.”
“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” the boy agreed. “I have already informed the Commanders that they are to march out at dawn, and make their way home. By the time the sun sets, not one Mirnean soldier will be standing on Palaran ground.” Cronos paused for a moment, as if only now fully realizing the horrors of what had happened. “It is to our shame that much of your kingdom lies in ruins and many of your people dead. Some having suffered unspeakable abominations. When the time is right, we will offer proper reparations, and, if you deem it acceptable, help in the rebuilding of the villages on the borders.”
“Wise words, well-spoken young Cronos.” Ganry said aloud what most of them were thinking. “You have a sensible head on such young shoulders, and it bodes well for future relationships between the two kingdoms.”
The party broke up with the agreement that Cronos and his bodyguard, Rochmyr the giant, would stay for one more day to say his personal farewells. That would be acceptable, as the boy, although a Mirnean, was also their savior.
The following morning, when the people in the castle rose from their beds, they found the grounds outside the walls completely deserted. The Mirneans had packed up and left. Despite knowing the truth about the Mirneans involvement in the attack, each and every Palaran breathed a sigh of relief to see them gone. It would be a while before they could be completely forgiven.
***
The Queen ordered a feast which was a splendid affair, but the atmosphere was rather subdued. Virtually everyone knew someone who had died in the war, and rather than a celebration of victory, it was a celebration of remembrance.
The whole castle and surrounding town was involved. Myriam wanted the people of Palara to welcome Cronos and see Mirnee once again as an ally. She would be making speeches to the armies and speeches to the town folk, and encouraging them to unite in friendship.
The people were pleased to see their young, brave queen and her cohorts. They had come to learn that her closest advisors cared much about the kingdom of Palara. First, they had saved the princess from the coup, and then they had accompanied her to rescue her Grandmother, a fine Duchess. They loved their royal family, for they trusted that they only had the people’s best interests at heart.
As Myriam walked amongst her people, they loved her even more. This was not some token gesture to them, but a real love for her people and kingdom. She had proven this by fighting the enemy herself and had been wounded in battle.
Ganry observed the queen as he accompanied her around the crowds. Someone had to be with her for support, as she was still suffering from her injury. He watched her win the people over. It was just what they needed and just what she needed, too. Her caring nature shone through and the people could see it. She kissed the heads of children, hugged those who had lost loved ones with their bravery in the battle, and promised everyone they met that the future was bright.
Myriam had won the hearts of her citizens. She had done so by showing her bravery in battle, her kindness and her wisdom. It had been a difficult time for all Palarans, but their young queen gave everyone hope.
Sentinel
1
Mistress Thalia smiled with a sadistic satisfaction as she listened to the torturous screaming of the creature known as Arman. His pain was truly exquisite. There was something about witnessing the suffering of others that fulfilled her needs. Although her needs were many and it would take more than this to satisfy her completely, it would suffice for now.
Arman had failed her. And she never gave anyone, or anything for that matter, a second chance. As soon as he returned, she had him dragged before her. He fawned and begged, but all for naught. A slow agonizing death was the fate for anyone who is useless to her.
Hanging from the stone walls in chains, she smiled as a small flesh-eating bug was placed into one of his ears. It quickly scurried out of sight, disappearing inside his body and eating its way through Arman’s brain. The bug was small and it would take a while for it to resurface out the other side, but Thalia did not mind. The cries of pain fed her like a bountiful feast, and she licked her lips in satisfaction.
Any unfortunate enough to enter these chambers as a prisoner would soon find a long, slow and painful demise awaiting them. Here, in this dungeon of despair in the underworld, there were many opportunities to deal out death. Some slow, and excruciatingly painful, like the flesh-eating bug that fed on Arman’s brain. Others quicker, like the deep pit in the center of the chamber, its bottom already littered with the bones of hundreds of creatures who had perished in the fall. She had considered skinning Arman alive, but he was an Akkedis lizard creature with thick scaly hide. Skinning one of those was near on impossible.
The huge green lizard-man had been chained with his two rear legs hanging down. His limbs stretched to the maximum, so his joints were probably broken and disjointed by now. Droplets of blood ran from his eyes and ears as he writhed in thick chains.
She had tolerated Arman when he had been a willing and able slave, but he deserved his fate. It had taken all her power and strength to open up a portal to transport him to the Kingdom of Palara. Once there, he was to help kidnap the albino child, kill him, and bring her a vial of his blood so she could then perform the ritual. He had failed her miserably. This wretch of an albino was becoming troublesome, even thought he was just a child. She had lost her trusted High Priestess, Ravyyne, and now her witches were in chaos, lost without a leader.
Leaning back in her thick cushioned chair, she enjoyed the screams and wails of misery that filled the chamber. It was not just from Arman, but the many other wretched creatures that were in the underworld. Some left to rot as they also hung in chains, while others were being tortured. It was music to her ears; a serenade of agonizing screams and grunts, blood curdling cries of torment. The stench of death and blood hung heavily in the air. She breathed it in, luxuriating in the aroma.
“Mistress! I found out about the scrolls and what will happen on his first decade!” Arman cried out, his voice hoarse from his screaming. “Surely that makes me a deserving servant?”
“Fool!” she screeched. “I asked you for his blood. Because of you I have to wait two years before I can make my next move. Besides, it is too late now. The worm is in your brain and it will not surface until it eats its way through to the other ear. By then, my dear Arman, you will be truly dead.”
Arman fell silent, resigned to his fate. Here he would die, in this god forsaken place. His brain to be eaten from the inside out. There was no point in screaming out for mercy, as she nourished on others’ agony. No, he would slip into matarat, a meditative state that only Akkedis could achieve. Slowly his own organs would shut down until he died. He consoled himself with one thought: the boy was stronger than even she imagined. With any luck, one day, he would be her undoing.
Thalia looked curiously at Arman as he hung there, now completely silent. Was he dead already? No, she had not sensed his passing. That was the best part. She would experience an exquisite shiver down her spine, as she soaked in some of the power of his passing soul. He was still alive, but somehow his presence had gone. Standing up from her chair, she strolled over to the slumped lizard-man. He was still breathing, though it was shallow. His normally bright scales were dull and pallid. Sensing that his mind was gone, Thalia knew that somehow he had managed to escape her full wrath. He had used the matarat, the wily creature. She’d forgotten that the Akkedis could do that.
“If only you could have been as resourceful on the other side, Arman,” she said quietly, before lashing out with her hands. Extended finger nails cut cleanly through the thick skin of the Akkedis’s throat, severing his windpipe and jugular. He did not flinch or cry out as his life’s blood flowed from his neck. A crimson waterfall cascaded down his body and into the gutters at his feet. There it ran along channels, into a great vat of blood stored underneath the chamber.
The store of blood was the source of nourishment for the creatures that lived in the underworld. Some thrived on it, gorged on it, and without it, mayhem would ensue. The lowly idiots would resort to killing each other in a frenzy to feed. The one who controlled the flow of blood held all the power of this world. At this moment in time, it was Mistress Thalia who was firmly in control.
She sat back down and mused on her next move. Her witches’ coven was leaderless and scattered in disarray. If only she could go to that world herself, but she had been banished hundreds of years ago. All this time she had waited patiently for an albino child of the right bloodline, so she could be released, and finally one was born. But, it seemed she was surrounded by fools, unable to do one simple task for her. At least, thanks to Arman, she now had hope when the boy turned ten.
Perhaps she should not have killed Arman, after all.
2
All Kingdoms that surrounded Mirnee were coming together in celebration of the first decade of the Emperor’s young son. There was to be a grand party, and the day had been decreed a holiday so all could celebrate. Since helping to save his kingdom from the witches’ coven, Cronos had become a popular and well liked child. Although young in years, he carried himself with a confidence that belied his age. He was growing up fast, thankfully. His father, Emperor Nestor Fontleroy, had not fully recovered from the cruelty he had suffered in the dungeons, and by the betrayal of his trusted friend, General Jeon. Nestor still ruled, but no one could be certain for how much longer.
The celebration was not only for Cronos’s birthday, but also to strengthen relationships between his neighbors. The recent cruel and difficult war with Palara had left wounds still raw, and bridges needed to be built. This would be a great opportunity for the two kingdoms to come together in happier times.
Cronos was particularly looking forward to greeting visitors from the Kingdom of Palara. These were the people who had helped save his life. Queen Myriam was so very beautiful and her Knight, Sir Artas Holstein, along with her favorite advisor and Artas’s mentor, Ganry de Rosenthorn, had all played an important part in his life. Two years ago, he had been forced to hide in their kingdom, away from the rogue witches who were attempting to take over Mirnee.
It was during these events that he had gained his own two personal guards, Torno, the man who could change to a wolf, and Rochmyr, the giant. They returned with him and remained his trusted advisors. Men he respected and loved.
Torno had become the leader of his personal guards. He was a seasoned fighter with an amazing ability to collect intelligence. One day he would lead Mirnee’s armies, when Cronos became emperor. Rochmyr was his bodyguard, and went with him everywhere. Though it had proved somewhat awkward and comical at times, having a ten foot tall man shadowing a small boy, but Rochmyr insisted on never letting Cronos out of his sight. They had all three become true friends and faithful companions.
Cronos was on his way to see Druid Azmariddian, perched on Rochmyr’s shoulders. The shaman had been researching through ancient scrolls on the Emperor’s lineage. He was hoping to uncover what ability Cronos would gain on his first decade of life. Legend had it that with each decade, the albino would gain a special power, so he could serve and protect his people. No one really knew if this was true or not as Cronos was the first albino in centuries. Every day, under Azmariddian’s instructions, he would practice his present special skills: seeing through another creatures’ eyes and being able to control small animals by thought. He was yet to try this out on a person but the thought made him uncomfortable. Controlling an animal was one thing, but a human?
Arriving at the druid’s home, he followed the stone stairway that climbed up to the top of a round tower. This was a building with no windows, except at the very top, where it boasted a huge domed glass roof.
“Azmariddian, are you here?” he shouted out as he entered the workshop under the glass dome.
In the center of the stone room was a long wooden table, covered in books. Asleep in a chair, his head resting on the table, was Azmariddian.
Smiling mischievously, Cronos crept quietly upon the sleeping druid, and yelled into his ear, “Azmariddian!”
“What? What?” the druid cried out, startled. His head turned this way and then that, before he spotted Cronos standing before him, smiling.
“Yes, young master, very funny. You will be the death of me one day with your practical jokes.”
“You’ve got to do something about that, Azmariddian.” Cronos laughed as he sat in the chair next to the old man’s. “You are always sleeping these days.”
“I’m old, I need my rest. Looking through all these books is hard work on my poor head.”
“Yes, yes,” Cronos cried excitedly, anticipating what the druid might have found. Maybe he would be able to fly, or disappear even. He could have fun with that.
“Did you find anything?”
“Ah yes, my boy. It’s good news, I believe,” he said, and then shut his eyes.
Cronos shook him before he fell asleep again.
“I know you were a master druid in my father’s time, but all I ask is that you stay awake long enough to tell me the information you’ve found from the scrolls,” Cronos said.
“Yes, boy, yes, I was a master. I was a genius, you know, but alas, I grow tired, in my old age,” Azmariddian replied. “Now then, let’s have a look,” he said, standing up and rummaging around the scrolls on the table. Yes, here it is. It seems you are to have a spirit guide, that’s it.”
“What exactly is a spirit guide?” Cronos dared to ask, slightly puzzled.
“It should be one of your ancestors, maybe even one of the albinos from the past. Someone who will guide you, help you to control your special abilities as they develop. Advise you on the ruling of your kingdom.”
“Is that it?” Cronos exclaimed, a little underwhelmed by the news.
“This is a great gift, Cronos, do not be disappointed. In this life we are always learning, my boy. Even I. You can never have enough knowledge about anything, and having someone or something to help impart that knowledge will be useful.”
“I suppose so,” Cronos said, a little sulkily. “I thank you, Azmariddian, for taking the time to learn this information. I look forward to meeting my spirit guide.”
“Very well, boy, off you go then. Let me have some peace and quiet. Always talking you are, always asking me questions. An old man needs his rest.”
The old man muttered to himself as Cronos left the room and walked down the stairwell to his bodyguard, Rochmyr. This was one of those places that he could not enter, because of the narrow stairwell.
“Why so glum, Master Cronos?” he asked when he saw the young man coming down the stone stairwell.
“Nothing, Rochmyr. I just didn’t get the news I’d hoped for. Come, let’s return to the palace and prepare for our guests.”
3
“Cronos, it is good to see you again, my friend,” Lord Artas said, as he greeted the boy.
“And you too, Artas. I am so happy you could all make it to this important stage in my life.” Cronos was genuinely pleased to see his friends from the Kingdom of Palara.
“Queen Myriam, you honor me with your presence.” Cronos bowed respectfully to the Queen of Palara.
“Nonsense, Cronos, we wouldn’t have missed this for anything. It is us who are honored, and look how tall you are now,” she replied, genuinely happy to see him grown so big and healthy.
“Welcome back to the land of your birth, Ganry,” Cronos greeted the Queen’s personal bodyguard. “I hope this visit is more to your liking than the last one.”
“I’m sure it will be, young master,” Ganry replied. “I am pleased to see you and your father in such good health. Long may it continue.”
“We’d like you to meet Hendon,” Queen Myriam introduced her close friend, the forest dweller. “He’s somewhat mysterious, just like you, Cronos. I think you two will get along just fine.”
Cronos stepped forward to shake the hand of the stranger dressed in a long dark cloak. For some reason, he reminded him of a tree. He had a brown beard and thick wavy brown hair. His face was stern and serious looking, but he had kindly brown eyes, soft and gentle, and trustworthy.
“Any friend of Palara is a friend to this kingdom too,” Cronos said, diplomatically. “I am very pleased to meet you, Hendon of Palara.”
Hendon had been amazed when he saw the boy. He had been informed of his striking appearance, but he was still taken aback at first sight. Everything about him was so very pale; white hair, twinkling white eyes framed with white eyelashes, pale fingers topped with white finger nails and very pale white skin.
“Ah, so you are Cronos,” Hendon took his hand. “I have heard so much about you. For such a young one, you have caused quite a stir. And, my word, you have an aura about you that is quite stunning.”
“Do I? Well, it is a special day for me today,” the boy continued to smile. He liked Hendon for his honesty. “It seems I am to meet my spirit guide, so maybe that is the aura you see.”
“Yes, you must tell me more of this. I used to have my own spirit guide, of sorts. I thought of him as a wizard. He taught me many things that we construe as the magical arts.”
“Oh no, you two are not getting into that,” Duchess D’Anjue interrupted. “There will be time for proper introductions later. Come along now, Cronos, your father has arrived and he’ll be expecting you to attend to him.”
Cronos liked the Duchess, and he liked the new stranger, Hendon. He almost felt reluctant to drag himself away from his Palaran guests, but he must be with his father, the Emperor, for his ceremonial event. It was his father who would lead the ritual today, reciting the words that would bestow on him the new skills he was to inherit. Already, he had received the dragon’s eye tattoo on his shoulder, the first stage in this process. The dragon’s eye would allow his spirit to see into his world. They had learned all of this from the scrolls, but exactly what was to happen today was still shrouded in mystery. Now it was so close, he felt a tinge of excitement.
Thinking of his soon to be spirit guide reminded him of Shaman Grecia, the wolf woman from the far reaches of Palara. She would be attending, but could not be here for the actual ceremony. It clashed with one of their own celebrations. He felt an affinity with Grecia. Together they had managed to kill the leader of the witches’ coven. The witches had tried to capture him for his albino blood, which they needed to free their banished witch Queen.
“It is almost time my son, are you ready for this next stage in your life?” His father approached, carrying the ceremonial gown Cronos was to wear.
“I am ready, father,” Cronos replied, leaving his lingering thoughts behind.
They walked together to the holy chamber where the ceremony was to be held. Despite his assurances to his father, he still felt a little nervous. There had been no albino born in hundreds of years, so none were certain what to expect. How would the spirit guide interact with him? Would it be a voice inside his head? Was this spirit to live inside his mind? So many unknown factors, but he still wished to continue, as was his birth right. It couldn’t be all that bad if it had been accepted before by his ancestors.
They entered the holy chamber, a room built of crystal glass. His spirits rose at the sight of so many friends and he drew strength from their presence. He looked from the altar, where the ritual was to take place, to the friendly audience, and there stood a large dark skinned man, next to Ganry. This must be Qutaybah of Vandemland. He had never met him, but had heard many good things of him as a rich trader with his lands.
Qutaybah bowed his head in acknowledgment as they smiled at each other. There were other people he did not know well, but trusted. Chief Linz, from the Lakelands in Palara, a trusted and faithful advisor to Queen Myriam. He took comfort knowing that they were here to celebrate his first ten years of life, and would help guide him in the future.
Cronos turned to his father, and their own trusted advisor, Azmariddian, the druid. He felt ready now, to move on to the next stage of his life.
He lay on the altar, as instructed, wearing his ceremonial white gown. Azmariddian and his father chanted archaic words. At first nothing seemed to happen, other than he became a little drowsy. Unexpectedly, his surroundings changed and he found himself walking down a dusty pathway. Surely this was a dream? Had the chanting caused him to drift into a slumber?
He felt compelled to follow the pathway, as if some unseen force pushed him on. Encompassed in a grey mist, his visibility was restricted to just a few feet, so he could see little of his surroundings. In his attempts to peer into the gloom, a grey veil descended over his eyes. Steadying his feet, he continued to look downwards at the path, so he did not stray.
Something was close by. Was he sensing his spirit guide? A strange warm feeling came over him, whirling around his legs. When he looked down he saw a long thread of blue mist winding around him like a snake, but he felt no sense of danger; in fact he felt at ease. An overwhelming sense of love and warmth now encompassed him.
The atmosphere started to change, and a darkness covered him. He could still see the blue swirl as it tried to penetrate the gloom, but the brooding stillness was all enveloping. Cronos knew instinctively that the blue mist was a protective barrier, but the warmth and safety he felt early was fast disappearing, to be replaced by a prevailing sense of doom. Something was wrong. He was not sure what, but he felt an evil presence was with him.
A sudden crescendo of sound assaulted his senses, and he clasped his hands over his ears in an attempt to cut it out. Pitiful screams and wails that tore at his very soul.
It stopped, as abruptly as it had begun, but there was no relief for Cronos. As soon as the wailing ceased, a red glowing mist began to descend over him. As it touched his skin, it burned. A terrible stench reached his nostrils and made him retch, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. The blue swirl that had offered him comfort and protection was forced away, weakening under the assault of the red cloud. It disappeared altogether and all that remained was the burning red glow that scalded his skin. Cronos was surrounded in a never ending blackness.
The pathway was gone, and it was as if he floated in a stinking black pit. The smell was death itself, sour and sickly, permeating into every pore of his skin. He retched again, but this time nothing but bile was expelled.
“Help me!” he cried, hoping to waken himself from this nightmare.
The blackness dissipated and he was back in the ceremonial room, still lying on the altar. Surrounding him were the concerned faces of friends. His body throbbed with the sharpness of pain from the burning sensation. When he looked down, his ceremonial robe had been scorched and singed, and the exposed parts of his skin were covered in welts and burns.
Next to him lay the Emperor, who had collapsed in a heap.
All in the room watched on in horror as the scene unfolded. Rochmyr was the first to react, scooping the boy up in his arms. He carried Cronos into the palace, his attendants following. Others lifted the Emperor to take him to his chambers.
Something had gone most terribly wrong.
4
“You gave us quite a scare,” Ganry said as he visited Cronos, still in his bed. “Strangely, you were covered in burns, but now there is no sign of them. An odd conundrum.” Ganry truly was surprised to see the burns had disappeared overnight. “Though, you do look much better than you did when I last saw you. How do you feel?”
“Disappointed, if you must know.” Cronos could not hold back his feelings. “Yesterday was supposed to be such a big day for me. I was to move onto the next stage of my life. Instead, I lie here, feeling useless. I need to get out of this bed, Ganry,” he complained, pulling back the covers as he attempted to sit up.
Immediately his head began to swim, and he slumped straight back down again.
“Be patient, Cronos,” Ganry said, looking concerned at the boy’s plight.
“Leave me be!” Cronos practically shouted at him. “I am Cronos, future Emperor of Mirnee, and you are merely a mercenary. You do not tell me what to do.”
Ganry stood back, surprised by the boy’s words.
Queen Myriam and the Duchess D’Anjue entered the room, just in time to hear the end of Cronos’s outburst. The Duchess leaned forward and whispered in her granddaughter’s ear.
“What’s got into him?” she queried.
“I hear you, old woman,” Cronos shouted, pointing at the Duchess. “Get out. All of you. Get out of my room. I don’t need an audience in my bed chamber. Leave, now, before I have you all confined to your quarters.”
Ganry, unable to contain his anger at the boy’s rude behavior, spoke out.
“Enough, Master Cronos. Do I need to remind you who you are speaking to? We will gladly leave, and hopefully, when we see you next, you will be of better temperament.”
Ganry did not wait for the boy to answer. Instead he quickly turned and followed the Queen and Duchess out of the room.
They stood outside the door, puzzled and shocked by Cronos’s unusual behavior.
“I suggest we speak with Azmariddian, maybe he can make sense of this,” Myriam suggested.
It seemed the boy had changed literally overnight, and it all started with the failed attempt to endow him with his new skill.
“He’s in with the Emperor. He has not regained consciousness since the ceremony. Why don’t you go to your rooms, Myriam, and I will seek his advice?”
“Yes, yes,” Myriam agreed, nodding her head. “It’s best we don’t all turn up at the Emperor’s chamber. He needs to rest. Do let me know though, Ganry, as soon as you hear what is happening. I have a bad feeling about all of this.”
Me too, Ganry thought to himself, but he did not relay his worries to the Queen.
Myriam and her grandmother left in the direction of their shared chambers. Ganry watched them go, before searching out Azmariddian. He first called on Artas and Hendon, updating them with the situation. “I, like Myriam, do not have a good feeling about this. Prepare yourselves,” Ganry warned them. “We may be returning to our homes sooner than expected.”
“I have said nothing so far, Ganry,” Hendon spoke up, “for fear of alarming everyone, but it appears my concern was well founded. I sensed something in the ceremony, as the boy became distressed. It was a dark and forbidding feeling that swept over me. There was some evil entity that has attached itself to the boy. Surely he is not to be guided by an evil spirit?”
“No, Hendon, it is my belief that something went wrong. This was not supposed to happen,” Ganry replied.
“I don’t like leaving Cronos alone,” Artas said, afraid the boy may be injured again by whatever had attacked him. “How did all those injuries just vanish?”
“He isn’t alone, Artas, he has Torno and Rochmyr. They will not leave his side, no matter how much he shouts at them,” Ganry informed them.
At this they parted ways. Ganry headed for the Emperor’s chamber to see how he fared. He knocked gently on the door and a maid let him in. A terrible aroma permeated the room; not a smell of sickness, but of thick sulfur.
“I hope that whatever you burn is for the health of the Emperor, Azmariddian?” Ganry inquired.
“I burn nothing, sire,” he replied. “It is the very air itself. It’s choking me. I fear there is an evil presence around our Emperor, holding him prisoner in their world.”
“What?” This took Ganry by surprise. It was not the sort of foul play he had been expecting. “Will it kill him?”
“It could, sire. It is not a possession. They have conjured away his soul, and his shell remains here. We must keep his body as healthy as we can, ready for his return.”
“Was the ceremony a lie? Merely a means to trap the Emperor and harm his son? Did you intend on this, druid?” Ganry gripped his sword hilt. “Are you in league with the witches?”
Azmariddian quickly held up his hands. “Nay. Nay, Lord. My Emperor has nothing to fear from me. We have been friends all of our lives.”
Ganry relaxed a little. He was still suspicious of Azmariddian, who had the skills to do this, but what would be his motive?
“We did everything right at the ceremony,” Azmariddian assured him. “I do believe that Cronos met with his spirit guide, who was then overrun by something more malevolent. I think that Cronos has been possessed. Have you not noticed his behavior, sire?”
“Yes, I have,” Ganry admitted. “What is to be done for them both?”
“I have yet to assess Cronos,” Azmariddian explained. “I fear that the beast within him will sense me, once I try to probe his mind. However, it is the only way to give us an idea of what is happening to him.”
“Then you must assess him,” Ganry said. “He was trying to rise from his bed earlier and whilst he was unsuccessful, I sense he was determined to be up and about. We need to act quickly and try to put a stop to this, before it escalates beyond our control.”
Ganry stepped closer to the bed, and took hold of the Emperor’s hand. It seemed so delicate and weak, the bones almost showing through a paper thin skin. Ganry felt much affection for this man, who had been like a father to him when he had lived in this kingdom. He was a good leader to his people, and the thought of his soul being trapped somewhere evil did not sit well with him.
“I will get you back, Nestor,” Ganry whispered. “And your son, too. Once we know what we’re up against.”
The door sprang open and Cronos entered the room.
“I wish to see my father,” he demanded. “Everyone, out of the room.”
Ganry stood between the Emperor and Cronos, barring the albino’s way.
“I think not, Cronos,” Ganry said to the boy, his steely tone making it clear he would not allow it. “Your father cannot be left alone.”
“He will not be alone,” Cronos said, standing only inches from Ganry and showing no fear of the seasoned warrior. “I will be with him.”
“You are not well enough to be with him,” Ganry insisted. “Let Azmariddian look you over so we can assess your own health, then you can talk to your father.”
“Do not assume to give me orders, mercenary,” Cronos said, a menacing tone in his voice. “I know of the things you have done to this kingdom. You may fool my father, in his dotage, but not me. I do not wish for such a traitor to be in my kingdom, or to ever set foot on it again. Consider yourself banished, forthwith. If you are still here by sundown, I will have you arrested.”
“Ahh, young Cronos,” Ganry mocked the boy, paying particular emphasis on the young. “I’m already banished. Yet here I am. Only the Emperor himself can order otherwise.”
Cronos’s face was red with fury, and he could barely contain his anger. He wanted to scream out for the imperial guards, and have him arrested, but he could not be certain they would follow his orders. Not while his father still lived. A strange voice in his head, one he had heard in his dark dreams, soothed him. It told him that now was not the time, but revenge would be his soon.
Calm, my little one, we will have our way soon enough. Follow their instructions for now, while you build your strength and your powers.
Cronos clutched at his head as the voice spoke. Sharp stabbing pains caused him to wince in agony. While the pain drove everything out of his mind, he felt the haze in his head lift, and for a moment his mind was his own. He looked curiously at Ganry, unsure why he was arguing with his good friend. But the fog soon returned, and the voice controlled his mind once again. He tried to fight it, but that only made his head swim and the room spin. Before he realized what was happening, he was lying in Ganry’s arms. Ganry had caught him before he collapsed on the floor.
“See, Cronos, you are not well. Please allow Azmariddian to take a look at you, and then we can see what ails you,” Ganry said.
Cronos was bitterly angry at this man who was ordering him around, but the voice in his head told him to bide his time.
Let him give the orders for now, the voice spoke. For soon, we will rule, and those who stand in our way will be cast into the darkness forever.
5
At last, she had ahold of him. Thalia felt relieved her plan had worked. The one who could free her from this stinking cesspit was in her control. She had fought hard to gain the advantage at the ceremony of the the albino boy’s tenth birthday.
Moving around in the underworld was easy enough. This was, after all, her domain. Access to the spirit world, though, had cost her much strength. Once informed of the exact dimensions where the change would take place by her informant in the Mirnee palace, she had taken her position early, and waited patiently. Sure enough, right on cue, the shadow of the boy appeared on the pathway.
Almost as soon as he did, she sensed the presence of the spirit that was to be his guide. Thalia had the element of surprise on her side. The spirit had no suspicions it was about to be attacked by an entity from the underworld. Using a strong incantation, one that drained most of her power yet again, Thalia managed to cast the spirit away, and into another dimension. Once it was banished, it had been easy to possess the boy.
Now, she was in his head, and could control him to do whatever she wanted. It would be amusing, causing havoc in this world, whilst she was in his body. The time would soon come when she could lead him to one of her covens, and they could kill him and start the ritual to return her to this world.
***
We need to build our power base here, Cronos, the voice in his head commanded him. Slowly, at first. We do not want to raise any suspicions too soon, before we reach our full strength. Let us start with the dumb giant, and that stinking wolf.
After leaving his father’s chambers, he headed straight for his own rooms. His protectors, Rochmyr the giant, and Torno the wolf man, were standing by his door.
“Quickly, inside,” he commanded them. “I fear there are some here who mean me harm,” he whispered as he stepped into his room, with both of them following.
“Who means you harm, my boy?” Torno asked, puzzled by the turn of events. “You are surrounded by those who are loyal to you. I truly do not believe that you need fear an attack upon your person in the palace.”
Cronos had his back to them, while the voice in his head instructed him in what to do.
Repeat this incantation, and soon your friends will be in our control.
Is é an cumhacht ag an underworld
i bhur gcroí
Máistreás Tahlia Orduithe dhuit anois
Cronos turned and mumbled the words. Neither Torno nor Rochmyr could understand what he said. As he finished talking, the temperature in the room dropped, and an overpowering smell of sulfur permeated the air. A swirling icy fog enclosed Rochmyr and Torno.
“What is this?!” Torno shouted, suddenly aware of the danger.
Too late. The ice fog overcame his two loyal companions, and they both collapsed on the floor.
Cronos was suddenly horror struck at the realization of his actions. For a moment he managed to clear the haze from his mind. What had he done? These were his friends. Had he just killed them? He ran across to them and knelt by their side. A large figure appeared in the doorway, and Cronos felt he had been caught in a murderous act.
“Cronos, what has happened?” Ganry asked from the doorway, smelling the sulfur and shivering from the coldness of the room.
“Ná cuir isteach!” Cronos shouted out. He had no idea what he was saying, only repeating the words swirling in his head. “You will not enter my room, none of you, unless I give my permission,” he finished.
Ganry pushed forward, but an invisible barrier stopped him entering.
“What trickery is this?” Ganry was fast becoming impatient with the boy.
“I believe he is possessed,” a voice said from behind. “He speaks the language of the underworld.”
Ganry turned to face Azmariddian, the old druid.
“Possessed, but how?” Ganry queried.
“Something must have lain in wait for him, yesterday. When he went into the spirit world. He is most certainly possessed, and has no idea what he is doing. His own thoughts will be slowly driven into the recesses of his mind, if they haven’t already. The spirit is doing the trickery.”
Ganry turned to order Cronos to allow him entry, when the door slammed shut in his face.
“Do you know how to deal with this?” Ganry asked the druid.
“We have had no possessions for hundreds of years. I will need to study. My mind isn’t what it used to be,” he stuttered, worried he would not be able to save the Emperor, or his son.
Ganry could see the pain in Azmariddian’s eyes, and he knew this was not the work of the druid.
“Yes, Azmariddian, go and study. Try to find all you can about the spirit guide ceremony and possession. It clearly wasn’t as straight forward as we thought it would be. I will send Hendon in to help you.”
Azmariddian nodded his agreement and quickly left, keen to get to his scrolls and read through them as fast as possible. He was sure they had done everything right at the ceremony, but something was amiss. Cronos needed him more than ever now, and he would work tirelessly throughout the night and day, if need be. He must find a way to banish the evil spirit that possessed the Emperor’s son.
6
It was pointless attempting to break down the boy’s door to try and gain entry, because he would still have the problem of the invisible barrier. He did wait awhile outside, trying to listen into the room, but he heard nothing. Ganry placed guards on the door, leaving instructions for them to inform him as soon as Cronos left the room. He made his way to the Queen’s chambers. They needed to pool their ideas on how to proceed.
“Do you think we can reverse the possession?” Myriam queried Ganry, after he explained the situation. “Perhaps another ceremony to cast it out?”
“I doubt he’ll let us perform another ceremony,” Ganry replied with his suspicions. “Especially while he’s controlled with some kind of nasty spirit. We’re working in the dark, until Azmariddian finds something in the scrolls. Or Shaman Grecia arrives, which could be tomorrow. I fear that by then, Cronos will be even deeper under its spell. I wish we could have spoken to Torno. His people all know of the spirit world, but he’s locked inside with Cronos, and Rochmyr too. To be honest, I’m not even sure they’re both still alive.”
“No, surely not,” the Duchess sounded horrified. “Cronos wouldn’t have killed those two, he’s too close to them.”
“It is not him in control anymore, grandmother,” Myriam explained. “We have to be prepared for the worse.”
“It’s my hope that he’ll need their help in the coming days, while he tries to consolidate his position. So I’m hoping they’re alive, but I doubt they would help him willingly. When I arrived at his rooms, there was a freezing chill and a strong sulfur smell, similar to the one that surrounds the Emperor.”
“You think they are possessed too!” Myriam cried out, unable to contain her feelings at the events that were unfolding.
“I don’t know, my Lady,” Ganry said graciously. “It wasn’t so long ago that I would have dismissed any thoughts of someone being possessed. Put it down to simple wives tales or folklore. Yet, after what I’ve seen these last few years, I just don’t know what is real anymore.”
Ganry still struggled to believe in magic, despite everything he had witnessed. It was clear there was something strange happening to the boy, he had seen it with his own eyes. Now, he feared the situation could only get worse.
A knock on the door, before it swung open, brought Hendon into the Queen’s chambers.
“Oh, Hendon,” Myriam urged, “please tell us you have found something to help the poor boy.”
“No, my Lady. We are undone.” Hendon shook his head apologetically. “The scrolls have been destroyed while we were preoccupied. Azmariddian believes it to be foul play. When we returned to his rooms, it was full of smoke, and the scrolls burned.”
“So, we not only have to contend with a possessed boy,” Ganry fumed, “but also a traitor in the palace. Could things get any worse?”
Another knock on the door interrupted their discussion, and a Mirnean guard entered. “Cronos has left his room and gone to his father’s chambers, sire,” the guard reported.
“I must go speak with him,” Ganry said. “Myriam, you stay here. I’m unsure how this is going to develop, and I’m uneasy with it. Artas, don’t leave your Queen’s side.”
Artas was Myriam’s lifelong friend, and also her personal Knight. His bravery in the coup, some years ago, had earned him a knighthood. He had been training with Ganry, his mentor, for the past few years, so he could take the role of the Queen’s protector. A role, so far, held by Ganry, but Artas was filling that duty more and more these days.
“Do you believe her to be in danger, Ganry?” he asked quietly, as he approached his mentor before he left.
“Yes. I believe we are all in danger, and we’re not in our own kingdom. You must always stay close by her side, when not on our own lands.”
Artas nodded. He would protect Myriam at all costs.
Ganry closed the door behind him, instructing Artas to refuse entry to anyone until he returned.
When Ganry arrived at the Emperor’s chambers, he found they were empty. Fearing the worse, he sought out a guard, who informed him that the Emperor and Cronos had moved to the throne room. Walking briskly through the stone corridors of the palace, Ganry felt the sun shining through the stained glass windows projecting a colorful light show on the walls. It was a grand old palace, one that Ganry had enjoyed exploring as a youth. Now, he had no time to appreciate its delights. He made his way to the throne room as quickly as he could, expecting trouble. When he arrived, two Mirnean guards stood by the door, barring entry.
“No one is to enter without the Emperor’s permission,” one of the guards barked at him, before opening the door and slipping himself inside, to check if Ganry could be received.
Ganry stood patiently waiting for the guard’s return.
The doors finally opened, and Ganry was allowed in.
Emperor Nestor, who had been unconscious only hours before, was sitting upon his throne. His skin was a pallid unhealthy color. By his side, was Cronos, who sat on a smaller throne made especially for the son of the Emperor. At either side of them stood the giant Rochmyr, and the wolf man Torno. Ganry was pleased to see them alive. The last time he saw them they were lying in a heap on Cronos’s chamber floor.
“You have insisted on speaking with the Emperor.” Cronos was the one to speak for his father. “He is not well, so be quick, Palaran.”
“It is you I wish to speak with, Cronos.” Ganry said nothing about being called a Palaran. He was a born and bred Mirnean, and Cronos knew that. “Although, I worry at your father being taken from his sick bed.”
“Speak your words, Palaran.” Cronos was impatient with wasting time.
“You agreed that Azmariddian could attend to you. You are not well, Cronos,” Ganry reminded him. “Both you and your father should be resting.”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you, traitor to your kingdom? You would like to take over the throne of an old man, and a young boy.”
“I have no desire to rule your kingdom, Cronos,” Ganry said, holding his anger in check. He knew these were not the words of the boy, but whatever it was that possessed him.
“Then leave,” Cronos spat at him. “You and your Palaran entourage are not welcome here.”
“Cronos,” Ganry tried to get through to the boy. “We are friends. You were given refuge in Palaran lands, when the witches tried to kill you. We saved your father from imprisonment and certain death. We mean you no harm.”
The Emperor suddenly shot up from his throne, standing rigid and staring wide eyed at Ganry, pointing a shaky finger at him. “You are our enemies, all of you. Do as my son orders and leave. The penalty for disobeying the Emperor, is death!”
Just as quickly as he stood, the Emperor slumped back down onto his throne. Even that simple task seemed to drain him. The skin of his face stretched taut with exhaustion. It was his eyes that shocked Ganry the most. As he looked into Nestor’s bright yellow eyes, he realized it was not his lifelong friend who stared back.
“What have you done to your father?” Ganry cried out, turning his gaze to Rochmyr and Torno, the boy’s protectors. He hoped for their support, but their faces were impassive, and their eyes the same bright yellow as the Emperor’s. This confirmed his worse fears. It seemed the spirit in Cronos was controlling them all. It was not safe here anymore. His priority now, was to leave this kingdom as quickly as possible. He needed to get Myriam safely home.
“You do well to hold your tongue, Palaran!” Cronos retorted. “Remember you are at the mercy of my father. You should leave now, and take that rabble of a party with you, while my father still feels merciful.”
Ganry knew he was treading dangerous grounds. The boy could just as quickly have them all imprisoned. He bowed to the Emperor. “Forgive me, my Lord,” he acquiesced. “I was merely concerned for both your healths, but I see you have your father’s best interests in hand. I will inform my party to pack, and we will ready to leave your kingdom immediately.”
This seemed to satisfy Cronos for now. The boy said nothing, but watched him suspiciously as if this were some trick he was playing. Ganry quickly left the throne room, returning to the Queen. They would have to leave immediately, and he needed to get word to the other Mirnean leaders. They must be warned that their Emperor was not who he seemed.
7
As Ganry entered the Queen’s chambers, he was pleased to see Qutaybah had joined her. They would need all the help they could muster, if they were to leave these lands safely.
“It’s good that you’re here, my friend,” Ganry greeted the large dark skinned man from Vandemland. “I am in need of your services.”
He sat with Myriam and the Duchess D’Anjue, as they all drank from ornate silver goblets filled with wine. Ganry accepted one from a servant, relieved they had insisted on using their own staff. He swallowed the whole goblet in one.
“Ganry, you look troubled.” Myriam frowned at her trusted protector and advisor, as she awaited his news.
“I am, my Lady. You need to leave now. This evil that possess the boy is like a disease and has spread to the Emperor, and both of Cronos’s closest bodyguards. I must insist on you riding away this very night. The longer you stay, the more danger you are in, my Queen.”
“You say I need to leave, and what about my trusted protector, is he leaving too?”
“I need to stay, my Lady. The Emperor needs me, as does the country of my birth. I will help see you safely over the borders, and then I will return to battle this evil.”
“Queen Myriam, my men are at your service.” Qutaybah nodded to Ganry, letting him know he would gladly accompany the young queen to her home.
“We must start to prepare immediately then?” the Duchess spoke. “We will have to leave so much behind.”
“A small price to pay for your safety, ma’am,” Artas joined in. “Shall I journey with the Queen, Ganry?” he asked.
“Yes, Artas,” Ganry confirmed. “I fear for her life, and you are the best man to be by her side. Can you be ready this night, Qutaybah?”
“My men are always ready, Ganry. I also think it wise to send a rider to Palara, advising them that the queen is returning early. They need to be informed that there may be problems on their borders again, with Mirnee.”
“You’re right, Qutaybah, although I feel that whatever creature possesses the boy, it doesn’t yet feel strong enough to act against us. I think for the moment it prefers to see us gone. That could change any moment, and when it does, it may very well cast its eye further afield.”
Ganry outlined his fears. “It seems that the demon within the boy is taking hold of any susceptible to its power. I fear the Emperor’s frail body will not withstand this assault, as he was already weakened. It is likely that with the Emperor gone, the path to the throne is clear. None would deny the albino prince his right to succeed, and that is what this entity is relying on.”
“What would you have me do?” Chief Linz of the Lake people asked.
“I need you to go and intercept the Palaran wolves. Shaman Grecia will be approaching the borders by morning, and I don’t want them caught up in a conflict with Mirnean soldiers. We are in great need of her specialist skills to help Hendon and Azmariddian search for answers, if we’re to have any hope of freeing Cronos. Hendon and I are going into the city. We’ll take Azmariddian with us, it’s not safe for him here.”
“Where will you go?” Qutaybah asked. “Is there anywhere safe for you in these lands, my friend?”
“I still have acquaintances here who will hide us,” Ganry replied. “I’m unsure of the details just yet, until I have spoken to those loyal to the Emperor, but when we’re safe, I’ll get word to you, Myriam, as soon as I can.”
The Vandemland merchant nodded his approval. “This is a sound plan, Ganry, and as always, I’m happy to be of service to the Palaran royal family. Consider your Queen in safe hands. When we return, I too will send a messenger, to look for you and let you know of her safe return. You can use him to return any messages to me, or your Queen. Once Myriam is in her own borders, I will need to return home. My king will need to know of the dangers that are rising here in Mirnee.”
The two of them grasped one another by one arm, in the age old tradition of comradeship, two warriors in agreement.
“It’s good to know that you have our backs, Qutaybah. I appreciate you taking care of the Palaran Queen. If anything were to happen to her…” Ganry left the sentence unfinished. He could not consider that event.
He had grown very fond of Queen Myriam, devoting his life to her service. She was unaware that she reminded him of his own lost daughter, who had died at the hands of his enemy in Mirnee. He could not bear the thought of losing her too.
“Do not fear for us, Ganry. I’m sure that Qutaybah and Artas will ensure our safe passage home. It is your own safety that concerns me. My kingdom will be a duller place without you in it.” Myriam spoke truthfully. Ganry had been her right hand man since she had inherited the throne. She too, could not bear the thought of losing him.
“I will return, my Queen, I promise. I can’t leave you in the inexperienced hands of young Artas for too long. He still has much to learn yet,” Ganry tried to lift the mood with humor. “Enough talk, you must all go, now, and ready yourselves to leave, as soon as night falls.”
The Queen’s entourage found it easy to move around the palace, far more so than they expected. The palace guards were in confusion, due to the Emperor and his son’s strange behavior. Making haste, they were soon boarding the waiting carriages that they had arrived in. Much was left behind; belongings and state gowns, but speed was of the essence.
Ganry approached Artas, who was sitting on his steed.
“Artas, it’s time to take your place by the side of your Queen,” he encouraged the young man.
“I’m ready, Ganry,” Artas assured him. “I have had the best of trainers. Should the path not be a smooth one, rest assured she is well protected.”
“I know, my boy. I would like to think that you could ride clear to the border, but I fear that may not be so. That’s why I’ve asked Qutaybah to accompany you. Once you’re home, speak to the commanders of the armies. Make sure they prepare for a possible attack. With luck though, this will be over as quickly as it began. Much will depend on those whose powers I cannot comprehend.” Ganry thought of Hendon, Grecia and Azmariddian, and how much he would be relying on them to break the possession.
“It is essential that we are prepared for any attack. We must secure our borders.”
“Aye, sir,” Artas saluted as he accepted orders from his master. “We will be ready.”
With that, the carriages set off, guarded by Qutaybah’s men. For a moment, it seemed as though they would not open the palace gates, but Qutaybah’s men pushed forward and the gates rose as the carriages left the palace, making their way home. It would be a difficult journey and Ganry regretted having to stay behind, instead of protecting Myriam. Though he knew she was in good hands. Qutaybah’s mercenary army were formidable fighters, and she had Artas by her side. Ganry knew Artas would die rather than see her come to harm. Ganry prayed it would not come to that.
8
“We have at least tonight to make some distance,” Qutaybah said to Artas, as they rode together beside the carriage.
“We need to be careful,” Artas responded. “I would like to make as much headway as we can, but once we are into the rural areas, the roads are poor. There’s every chance of rupturing a wheel.”
“We’ll stick to the good roads as long as we can. Though, I fear we’ll have to saddle up the spare horses soon enough.”
Artas nodded, he knew that the Vanderlander was right. At some point they would have to abandon the coaches as their bulkiness only slowed them down. There were enough horses for everyone, but he feared for the Duchess D’Anjue. The ride would be hard for her, especially over a long distance.
Artas noticed Myriam’s hand beckoning him from the carriage window.
“My Queen, is all well in there?” he asked, approaching the window.
“Yes, Artas. It’s a rough ride but a necessary one. Did Qutaybah mention if we might be stopping?” Myriam held onto the window ledge as she was jostled around inside the carriage.
“I doubt we’ll stop to camp, ma’am,” Artas warned her. “We will stop for refreshments at some point, but we must get some distance between us and the city.”
“I understand, it’s just my grandmother is not as tough as she used to be. When do you think we will cross the border?” Myriam queried.
“I cannot answer that, my lady, but speed is of the essence. Hopefully by early evening tomorrow, if the conditions hold well for us.”
Just as he finished speaking, the rain started. Light at first, but it soon turned into a downpour. The road was fast becoming muddy, as if even the weather of this accursed kingdom was trying to slow them down.
“Curse these contraptions,” the Duchess D’Anjue spat, as she was jostled by the rough ride. “Give me a horseback any day.”
“At least we’re dry, grandmother. Once we no longer have a roof over our heads, we will soon start to feel the chill.”
The Duchess said nothing. She should be grateful for being dry and warm, but her bones ached at every bump. The maids had cushioned her as best they could, but nonetheless, the speed they were going was making the journey very uncomfortable.
“Artas says we will stop soon for refreshments,” Myriam tried to console her grandmother. “Fortunately, Qutaybah’s party are well supplied, for I fear we will not be stopping at any inns.”
“Oh, to be back in my own bed once again,” the Duchess sighed. “Your grandfather always said, ‘sleep as long as you can, for you never know when you may leave the comfort of your bed far behind.’ I think it was just his excuse for being lazy. Although I do miss him in my bed, even after all this time.”
Myriam smiled at her grandmother’s comment. She rarely spoke of her grandfather these days. “I don’t remember him, but I wish I did, because I know my mother adored him. Mother always said he was the rock that the D’Anjue family was built upon.”
The Duchess leaned over and placed her hand gently over Myriam’s. “Your mother was spoiled terribly by your grandfather, dear. That’s why she had so much love to give to you.”
“I’m very lucky to have you by my side.” Myriam also held onto her grandmother’s hand. “Now sit back before you fall from your seat,” she laughed.
The rain pounded on the roof and the heavy curtains that covered the open windows flapped about with the incoming wind. The maids tried to pin down the curtains as best they could, but the ride was too rough. Myriam and her grandmother wrapped blankets around themselves to keep warm. It was Myriam's hope that they could hold off taking to horseback for as long as possible. They were not dressed for riding, especially in such inclement weather, and despite her grandmother favoring it, she knew it would be difficult for her.
Qutaybah was pleased with their progress. They had passed by a number of villages without problems, and they were making good time. He did not wish to stop yet, even though he knew the royal party would need a break soon, especially the Duchess. It was his hope to reach the mountain pass first. The crossing over the pass would be difficult, but it was the quickest way back into Palara. That was his main objective, to see the Queen and Duchess safely back into their own kingdom. For all he knew, Ganry may have resolved the problem, and they may be running from nothing. Though he doubted that.
Although they had been allowed to leave, he did not trust the boy. He had seen firsthand that an evil lingered in his eyes. Even now it sent shivers down his spine. Possessed, or not, the boy meant them harm. His experience in life had taught him to always expect the worse, so he would assume the Mirneans were their enemies, until it was proved otherwise.
Qutaybah was far too fond of the Duchess and her granddaughter, the Queen of Palara, to take any risks with their safety by being complacent. He would get them to their borders safely, or he and his men would die trying. When they reached the pass, he would allow the women to eat in the carriage, before they made the arduous crossing over the mountains. The pass was well defined and not too difficult, but in these weather conditions it would be hard going.
Already he had sent some of his men on ahead, riding at speed to cross into Palara and warn the kingdom on the dangers from their neighbors. Hopefully they would increase the troops on the border, and be there to welcome their Queen.
He cursed the rain. It was slowing them down, and making the ride on horseback even more incommodious. The rain had surprised him when it started. The heavens had been clear with the stars clearly visible, before a dark cloud suddenly covered the night sky. He feared it was the doing of the corruption that resided in the Mirnean royal city.
Still, he had sworn to Ganry that he would see the royal party safely back to their kingdom, and he had every intention of doing just that. Even if the forces against them could command nature itself.
9
Ganry was relieved to see the royal party leave the palace and make their way home. There could be danger ahead of them, though he was unsure at this stage. However, if there was, they were in the best of hands.
With Myriam on her way, it was time to for them to leave too, before it was too late.
“Quickly, Hendon,” Ganry commanded. “Let’s find Azmariddian and leave this accursed palace ourselves. I fear if we stay much longer, we will once again find ourselves being acquainted with the dungeons.”
“Yes,” Hendon agreed. “We all need to get out of here. I’ve arranged to meet with him in the stables. He should be there by now.”
“Good man, Hendon, you’ve planned well. Let’s get out of this place while we still can,” Ganry said, heading towards the stables.
Suddenly, the heavens opened and rain started to pour. A crack of thunder and a flash of lightning lit up the sky, informing them this was not a mere rain shower. Mirnee was in the dry season, when rain was a scarcity. The monsoon season was not due for another few months.
“There’s something not right about this storm,” Hendon said, frowning. “I fear it’s been conjured. I can feel the corrupt magic in the air.”
“I feel it too, Hendon.” Ganry shivered at a cold chill. “Whatever has possessed Cronos has become powerful indeed, if it can control the seasons.”
When they reached the stables, Azmariddian was already there. He looked old and frightened.
“I sense a terrible evil in the palace,” he said with a quivering voice, when he saw the men approach. “I hate having to abandon the Emperor and the boy, but I can do more good away from them. I cannot fight this thing alone.”
He led them further into the stables where three horses were saddled.
“I’ve readied the horses so we can leave immediately,” he said, passing the reins to Ganry and Hendon. “I know somewhere we can hide, but it’s out of the city.”
“I have a safe house for tonight, then tomorrow if all is clear, we can travel to where you suggest, if you’re sure it’s safe?” Ganry asked.
“Yes, it is safe,” Azmariddian replied. “Plus, it tunnels back to the palace.”
They mounted up and cantered the horses through the courtyard, towards the gate. Ganry was hoping the guards on the gate were not yet aware of the events unfolding within the palace. At the moment, uncertainty seemed to reign amongst the palace guards, and he hoped they could slip out in the confusion. As they approached the gates, they could see guards turning people away. Ganry placed his hand on his sword hilt, ready to fight his way out, if necessary, but as they approached one of the soldiers recognized Azmariddian, and waved them through.
“I don’t think it’ll be long before they close the gates,” he said quietly to Ganry.
Once out of sight of the palace, Ganry spurred his horse and they galloped off into the dark, with Hendon and the druid following closely behind. He headed straight for the merchant quarters, an area he knew well. More importantly, there were people there he could trust.
As they rode quietly through the streets, he spotted a bent old man, a familiar figure. He had managed to get word out by one of the palace servants who knew his uncle. They needed a place to hide. The bent figure he spotted was Berne, his uncle’s faithful manservant.
Ganry dismounted and approached him. They greeted each other with a fond embrace.
“It is good to see you, Master Ganry, but we must go now,” Berne urged them to leave the market square. “There is a new curfew and all citizens are to stay within their homes after dark. Apparently there is to be a census, would you believe? Your uncle is outraged.”
As he spoke, they could hear the sound of soldiers’ marching, swords rattling at their sides.
Berne quickly led them to a small wine bar. It looked empty and closed.
He then approached the wooden door, and rapped on with his knuckles, in a very precise pattern. After a few moments the door opened, and a worried head appeared in the gap.
“Berne, thank the maker it’s you.” The man swung the door open and he urged them to enter, quickly.
“Leave the horses tethered, I will take them to your uncle’s stables, later,” Berne instructed, as he entered the bar and gestured for them to follow.
When Ganry entered, Berne and the bar keeper were in a huddled conversation with much gesturing. The bar keeper looked over at Ganry and his party. Eventually the barkeeper shrugged, and handed Berne a key.
Berne came over to Ganry and explained.
“He is a good man, he will not betray us, but he is worried, as are we all. Already he has heard of arrests, and fears a stint in the dungeon will be the death of him.”
“I understand, Berne.” Ganry then called over to the man, “We will be gone by tomorrow.”
The bar keeper nodded and locked up the door they had come through, before leaving them alone.
Berne opened a door at the back of the bar with a key, and urged them to follow him.
The door led to a small back room that was filled with wooden boxes and smelled of sour beer. A trapdoor in the floor led down into a cellar. The huge, damp cellar was littered with wooden barrels stacked against the walls. Berne lit a number of oil lamps that cast a yellow glow around the room. It was cold and dismal down here, and they could hear running water, but at least they should be safe.
“The tunnel over there.” Berne pointed out to dark cavern at the rear of the room. “It brings you out by an underground river. There should be a boat. If you follow the flow of the river it will take you out of the city.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Ganry embraced the old man again. “Give my respects to my uncle and advise him if at all possible, he should try and leave the city for a while. There is a dark storm coming and many will be swept up in it.”
Berne nodded that he understood, before he climbed back up the ladder and out of the cellar, closing the trapdoor behind him.
There were no beds, but some blankets were found in a wooden box. They were a thick woolen type, and would help to fight off the cold. Azmariddian found some dry provisions which they all ate. None had eaten that day and only now realized their hunger. As they settled down wrapped in their blankets, they discussed their plan of action.
10
The pit fires of the underworld were blazing hot in Mistress Thalia’s chambers. She was in a deep trance, using all her power to control the boy in the other world. It took much of her energy to keep Cronos under her influence, and she needed to be constantly fed from the blood supply from the vat under the floor. She was working quickly to possess those close to Cronos. Once she had them, she could transpose one of her fiends to control them. This left her free to oversee continual possession of all the important humans she would need for this to work.
Her demons could not function in both worlds. Their bodies had to remain in the underworld, while their spirits traveled across the void, between the dimensions. This allowed them to possess and control the host body. Once this was achieved, the shell left behind in the underworld was left to die. Even then she had further use for the corpses. They were thrown into the rack, so the blood could be extracted out, for food. The new host would be the permanent home for the fiend’s spirit.
Though the spirits would battle it out in the mind of the possessed body, only one spirit could live on, the other thrown out to whatever awaited dead spirits. Already most of the senior military humans were possessed by her demons. Soon, she would be able to open a portal and send her physical demon army through, to take complete control within the world.
At that point she could turn her attention to rebuilding her coven of witches, and then they could begin the ritual that would allow her to return. Once restored to her rightful place, she would rule the world with her demon hordes.
***
The Emperor was now merely her puppet. His body was weak and barely hanging on to what little life it had left within. She possessed him directly, as she did the boy, rather than have his body occupied by a fiend spirit. Most of the time she left his physical body sleeping in his chambers. He was only disturbed when Thalia needed decrees signing. Human legalities that strengthened her grip on his kingdom.
He had already signed papers banishing all those who were not Mirnean born. Mistress Thalia wanted no outsiders interfering inside Mirnee, not until she had strengthened her hand considerably. She was not yet ready for a war with the other nations.
Almost all the head commanders were in her control. The curfew and arrest of anyone who did not comply was causing concern, especially from those who remembered the witches’ revolt. A revolt that took them to war with Palara. It would not be possible to control every single soldier by possession, only those who gave the orders.
Commander Marton had called on Cronos to update him on the current state of affairs. “The curfew is in place, my Lord. Already we have arrested those who attempt civil disobedience, but some of the junior officers are beginning to question us.”
Order the garrison’s captains to attend your quarters, Thalia’s voice whispered in Cronos’s head.
“Commander Marton, I want you to gather all the commanders in the palace garrison who are questioning my orders. Bring them to the throne room.”
The possessed Commander Marton turned and left immediately to carry out the orders.
Cronos sat in the Emperor’s throne, awaiting the commanders. Occasionally, Thalia’s control slipped, and he was between his own conscious and her control. This was one of those moments. Why was he sitting on his father’s throne, and where was his father? Cronos knew that something was amiss. His father needed him. Once again the kingdom was in peril, but his head was not clear. It felt like a heavy fog was shrouding his thoughts.
He tried to stand, but immediately slumped back down onto the throne.
Stay still, boy, a voice inside his head spoke to him. You do nothing without my permission.
He tried to fight the commands in his mind, but he could feel a pain building from deep inside his head. The more he fought the voice, the more painful it became. A thudding agony, as though someone were stabbing him in the eyes.
The door guards entered the throne room, and Cronos let slip his concentration. Immediately, a warm feeling flooded his body, and he succumbed to its siren nature. No longer fighting the intruder in his head, the pain subsided. He sat there staring at the door, unable to move or even speak. Words did come out of his mouth, but they were words he had not spoken. He puzzled no more as his mind slipped into a comatose state, forced into the darkest regions of his brain, where it would sleep.
“Enter,” Cronos’s body ordered.
The door opened and Commander Marton returned with ten of the garrison commanders, the last few who were not possessed by one of her demons.
“A toast, commanders,” Cronos said, as servants handed out silver goblets of a heady red wine. “You have been chosen to command the royal city guards. Today, I wish to salute you.”
The wine contained a light narcotic, which was intended to relax their minds and leave them susceptible to persuasion. Once their defenses were lowered, it would be easy to possess them and summon a demon to take over their bodies.
“Dún do shúile,” Cronos commanded them to close their eyes, after they had all drained their glasses. “Codlata domhain,” he spoke his incantation to send them into a deep sleep. Cronos said the words to bring out his demons. His face wore an emotional blank stare, as his body spoke the words of Mistress Thalia.
As if on cue, all of the guards collapsed to the floor and lay motionless. The temperature in the room dropped to a cold chill, and the smell of sulfur hung heavy in the air. The prone commanders’ bodies began to shake and convulse. Foam dribbled from their mouths. It only lasted a few minutes, and then it was over as quickly as it had begun.
Soon they were standing back up again and bowing to their leader.
“Táimid ag freastal ach tú, Mistress Thalia,” they chanted their subservience to their mistress.
Now, she had complete control of the city guard.
11
Linz and the three of his men that were with him, had traveled to the southern borders of Mirnee to try and catch Shaman Grecia before she entered the kingdom. She would be totally unaware of the dangerous situation that was unfolding, and would be expecting to arrive for the celebration. He did not look forward to sharing his bad news with her.
It had only been two years since the last war with Mirnee, but hopefully Ganry could stop this latest catastrophe from spreading. Although, in his experience, magic had a bad reputation for doing its own thing. Other than his friend Hendon and the wolf people, he felt most practitioners were evil, so he was not too hopeful.
They had arrived at a point where Grecia would have to pass through to get to the royal city. The pass here meandered through two sheer cliff sides, and getting over was impossible. There was an alternate route, but that added a further forty miles to the journey, and a few more days travel. This was the most popular way in times of peace, and all would use it. Not so, however, in times of unrest, for there were just too many places for an ambush. Fortunately, for Grecia and her party, the only ambush they would get on this journey would be by Chief Linz and his Lakemen, who were her trusted friends.
A storm had arrived throwing the heavens at them, so they took shelter under overhanging rocks. This formed a roof over their heads, protecting them from the worse of the rain. The area underneath was quite cavernous, and easily provided cover for them and their horses. It had been a hard ride, and they had not stopped to rest, other than to water the horses in streams. Just before they had arrived at this point of the pass, they had seen the storm and heard its rumbling in the distance. Now it was here. Linz was concerned that he would miss the shaman passing by because the heavy rain was making visibility difficult. They took it in turns to stand as lookout higher up on the rocks, but there was no protection from the elements.
Linz was just resting his eyes as the lookout came running in, informing them that he had seen dark shapes moving on the road ahead. He doubted it would be the shaman, as surely she also sought shelter. He ordered his men to draw their weapons and be prepared. They stood just under the outcrop of rocks, and peered into the pouring rain. Visibility was still poor, but he was certain he could see movement, dark shapes low to the ground.
“Chief Linz, is it them do you think?” Petres, one of his lieutenants, asked.
A low growling emanated from the advancing shapes, and Linz readied himself for an attack. One of the figures broke away from the pack, and drew closer. In the blink of an eye, it changed from a four legged creature into a woman. Linz recognized her instantly. It was Shaman Grecia. He relaxed his stance and sheathed his sword, commanding his men to do the same.
The other wolves also changed to their human form, and came under the outcrop of rocks for protection from the rain.
“We were not sure if it was the scent of humans we sensed, because of this storm,” Grecia said to Linz as they greeted in a warm embrace. “Why are you here and not at the royal city?”
“I’m here to intercept you,” Linz explained. “There’s been a change of plan.”
“You came out in this storm to tell me that?” she said, surprised, as she sat down on horse blankets that had been laid out to make the den more comfortable. “We took the form of wolves to make good time, and our fur is better suited to this dreadful weather. Now you are here, I fear your presence will slow us down,” she said, assuming her Queen had sent them simply as a formality of greeting.
“We will not be going to the palace, Grecia” Linz replied. “There was a problem at the ceremony. Evil spirits have infiltrated this world through Cronos. Last I was there, it had spread to his protectors and the Emperor. The boy is possessed and is ruling Mirnee with an iron grip, ordering all foreigners out of his kingdom.”
Linz paused to allow the information to sink in, before continuing.
“All foreigners are fleeing Mirnee, fearing for their lives, but we must go deeper into the kingdom. We are to meet up with Ganry and Hendon. They need your help with these spirits.”
“I thought there was more to this storm than meets the eye.” Grecia frowned as she looked out at the pouring rain. “Though I could not think why anyone should do this. It seems your story explains it.”
“I don’t know how powerful the spirit is,” Linz admitted. “But we must hurry back. Though my men have ridden hard without rest, so we must eat and rest first.”
Grecia nodded her agreement and a fire was started to cook some of the provisions Linz had brought with them. It offered some warmth from the rain. The wolves had traveled light, carrying nothing, knowing they could hunt on their journey. Neither did they need the fire to cook their food. In their lupine form they would hunt, and eat their catch raw. In human form they gratefully accepted the warm stew that Linz’s party had cooked, as they too had not eaten all day.
“We can afford a few hours, I’m sure,” she agreed. “Though if the storm gets worse, we may have to see it out under these rocks. Tell me, Linz, all that has happened.”
They sat together conversing as they shared food. Grecia was quickly updated on the situation, and it concerned her greatly. Most possessions, in Grecia’s experience, were because a spirit had become attached to a person, probably attracted by their life force. They could influence the mind to some degree, but rarely was any malice intended. Clearly, this was different. Not only was the boy being controlled, but so were most of the commanders. This was possession by a legion of demons, and not spirits. It was no accident; some greater force was at work here.
Also, the ancestral guide from the spirit world might prove useful. If she could link with it, together they may be able to drive out the demons.
“At the moment, Chief Linz, my thoughts of how to tackle this are unclear. I have some ideas, but we need to get to the boy so I can assess who is controlling him, and why. Judging by this storm, I fear it is a demon, and not simply a lost spirit that has taken over.”
“I am only grateful that you have some clarity on what’s going on, Shaman Grecia.” Linz breathed a heavy sigh. “Ganry has tasked Hendon and the old druid, Azmariddian, to work on it, but they both lack experience of the spirit world.”
“Fear not, Linz,” Grecia said, placing her hand gently on his arm. “All is not lost just yet.”
She did not wish to alarm the young chief, though she knew of his courage from the battles with the Mirnee witches, some two years previous. However, possession by a demon was not going be to easy to banish. Grecia was thankful that she would have the help of Hendon and Azmariddian. She was surely going to need them.
12
The royal city of Mirnee was in absolute chaos. Panic and fear were rife in every nook and cranny. The residents had been ordered to remain in their homes after dark, and all outsiders, who had not already left, were locked up in the palace dungeons. Royal guards patrolled the streets, arresting any who breached the curfew. A sense of foreboding lay upon the city.
Ganry was thankful the escape route had brought them far enough outside, that they would not attract attention from the prying eyes of the night watch stationed on the city walls.
“Do you know the way, once we leave the river?” Ganry asked Azmariddian as they rowed the boat to the riverbanks. The journey had been difficult in the dark tunnels as visibility had been reduced to just a few feet, but it passed without incident. All three breathed a sigh of relief when they finally exited the tunnel. It felt good to see the night sky above their heads, even though that very same sky was drenching them.
“I do, and it’s not far from here,” said Azmariddian. “We’ll head to the cliffs, then follow a small trail that will lead us to the hidden caves.”
“There are many trails, and they change all the time,” Hendon said, understanding the nature of animals. “I hope yours is still there?”
“Trust me, young forester. This trail leads to the most scrumptious of herbs that the goats cannot resist. I myself made the trail, and only the goats know of its existence.” Azmariddian smiled at the young man, confident he knew what he was doing.
Azmariddian led the way, while Hendon looked at Ganry with suspicion, lacking confidence in the man they followed.
“How do you we know we can trust this druid?” Hendon whispered to Ganry.
“Because I can hear you,” Azmariddian called back to him. “If you must discuss me, at least have the common decency to do it when I’m not around.”
Ganry laughed quietly. “Unless he becomes possessed too, he’s all we have, Hendon. He has Mirnee’s interests at heart, and that is good enough for me.”
Hendon stayed at the rear of the group. He wanted to observe the druid. As an extra precaution, he intended on keeping an eye on Ganry too. Though he doubted that the Queen’s protector had succumbed to the demons, he was not taking any risks. This was going to be a difficult time, not knowing who one could fully trust. Hendon intended on being suspicious of everyone. It would not hurt to be extra cautious.
Darkness had fallen and the wretched storm seemed to be staying for good. Is this just more dark magic at play, Azmariddian thought to himself. Pounding rain made the ground slippery underfoot. Treading carefully, they reached the pathway on the cliff edge. Azmariddian found it immediately, knowing exactly where he was going. He was aware that the young forester was suspicious, thinking he may be leading them into a trap. There was nothing he could do about it. His words would not assuage him, so he would simply need to earn their trust.
These people were his only hope to save the Emperor and his son. He was still unsure what had gone wrong in the ceremony. Azmariddian was aware of the concepts of a spirit possession, enough to know that was not what was happening to the young heir. If it were, Cronos would still be himself, more often than not. Yet, Cronos did not seem to act like the young boy that he knew and had come to respect. No, this was not a simple possession, but what was it? The storms, the fact that the Emperor and the soldiers were all acting strange too, did not bode well. He knew he was out of his depth. Without his books to study, he was lost.
He had lived through many years of peace, broken only by the rogue witches’ coven a few years back. His life as a druid had been an easy one, allowing him to study the various mystical arts, and using it to benefit the royal family, and the Kingdom of Mirnee. His kind had been decimated in the anti-magic wars, fought by those that did not understand, so therefore used their ignorance as a weapon. They had seen all magic as a threat.
Mirnee was one of the few kingdoms that now tolerated witches and druids, so long as they did not practice magic openly, or dabble in the old dark arts. His early years were spent growing up in the palace as one of the Emperor’s playmates, and they had become close friends. Now, he was a trusted advisor to the aging ruler, as they had grown old together. A peaceful life had made him soft. He was not a powerful druid. Mostly he had been a healer, and a teacher. He was not sure how that could help the situation right now.
He continued on down the narrow trail, confident that it would lead them to his secret hideout. It was in one of these that he had secreted the Emperor during the witches’ unrest, two years ago. He had chosen this one because of the direct access back to the palace. Waterlogged tunnels ran throughout the deep caverns, right under the palace. With a deep water underground lake, it would be necessary to swim to the other side, and then access the tunnel once again to continue. The passage was not an easy one. He himself could no longer make the journey that way, though a strong man, such as Ganry or Hendon, could easily navigate it. If they were to have any hope in freeing Cronos, then this was going to be a key factor: access to the palace.
13
They had been riding horseback for many hours, abandoning the carriages at the edge of the forest that led to the mountain pass. Myriam knew that the dawn should be breaking soon. At a rough guess she believed it was early morning, but darkness still prevailed. Heavy dark clouds blocked out any sun rays. The rain was constant, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead.
The group arrived at an intersection, and Qutaybah had a decision to make. They could choose to continue north, through the forest which would take them to the foot of the Palmernian mountain range, which bordered the Kingdom of Palara. Or, they could turn east, and head for the plains that lead to the borders of the Kingdom of Vandemland.
They were unsure how much the danger had spread throughout Mirnee, so Qutaybah had sent his messengers in both directions to forewarn both border patrols. In the end the decision was an easy one. He had promised Ganry he would see the queen safely home, and that was his first objective. As much as he wished to speak to his own king, it would have to wait.
Vandemland only has a small part that borders Mirnee, so the threat would not yet be real to his homeland. His decision made, they set off through the forest, towards Mount Palmern. He would take them halfway through the pass. Hopefully, by then, Palaran soldiers would have met up with them.
The storm was here to stay, that had become obvious when it did not abate, as would a normal storm eventually. The darkness was relentless and the rain pounded them constantly. There was also a strong sulfurous aroma that made the journey even more arduous.
“We’ll stop for a few hours,” Qutaybah informed the young Palaran Knight, Artas. “The Duchess needs to rest.”
Artas did not argue with him, but he had hoped to be nearer Palara before they had a break. He was aware that Duchess D’Anjue was struggling, and that Qutaybah would not want to stop unless it was necessary. He would be keen to get to his own kingdom, too.
They found a thick cluster of trees with huge canopies, which offered some protection from the rain. Here, they made camp. A welcoming fire was lit and some food prepared. Duchess D’Anjue was grateful for the rest. Her aged bones did not fit well with the shape of a horse’s back anymore.
“This storm seems to be going on forever. Do you think it covers the whole of Mirnee?” Artas asked Qutaybah, as they sat under a makeshift cover and ate the rabbit that had been cooked.
“It’s hard to know its purpose, but I do believe that it will have one.”
As they spoke, rolling crashes of thunder rumbled in the night. Through the thick branches and leaves, they could see the flickering flashes of lightning.
Qutaybah and Artas moved into a more open area, and watched the spectacular lightning show.
“Did you see that?” Qutaybah exclaimed, pointing up to the sky as a spectacular fork of lightning flashed across the sky. “I feel there is a pattern to its ferocity.”
“Do you think that Cronos is searching for us?” Artas wondered.
“No. We meant nothing to the spirit that dwells within him. It merely wanted us gone so it had freedom do its deeds, whatever they may be.” Qutaybah said. “That lightning is doing some task or other, but I don’t believe it’s searching for anything.”
“No doubt we’ll find out soon enough,” Artas added as he watched the lightning dance in the distance.
A watch was kept and everyone else managed a few hours sleep. Myriam woke feeling quite refreshed. The canopy of branches and leaves had offered good protection against the rain, and it was good just to be dry from the continual downpour. She looked out into the forest and could see many small rivulets of water flooding the forest floor. The rest of the journey through the forest would be made even more difficult with the thick mud and broken branches that had fallen in the storm.
Myriam accepted a warm drink from one of the servants who traveled with them. Standing up to drink and watch the rain fall, she was gladdened to see Artas approaching her.
“We should reach the pass today, my Queen,” he said with a wide smile.
“Hopefully we will be met by our own forces, and Qutaybah can get on with his own troubles.”
“He is a true friend to the Kingdom of Palara,” Artas said, sincerely.
Within an hour the whole camp was dismantled, fires extinguished and everyone mounted on horseback. They rode on at a slow pace, for fear of the horses injuring themselves on the newly flooded ground. The day was damp, cold and dark. Yellow, grey and black clouds loomed low above their heads. This time of year should see the sun shining in full bloom, but the mysterious clouds would not allow the warm rays through.
Even with the hindrance of such poor conditions, they made it to the mountain pass, towards the back end of the day. Although, with the dark cloud cover, it was difficult to say exactly what time of day it was.
Myriam looked up at the snow topped peak of Mount Palmern. They were nearly home and she felt comfort from that thought. Ahead, a clear road wound its way through the mountainous terrain. She hoped that once they were on it, they would soon come across her own soldiers, so Qutaybah could be released of his burden. In reality, they had not needed the mercenary and his men, as there had been no signs of danger at any point, just the difficult weather conditions. Though it still felt reassuring to have his company.
“We’ll soon be up there and well on our way home, my dear,” the Duchess said to her granddaughter, looking forward to their arrival at the castle and her own warm bed.
Myriam smiled at her grandmother. She was a real trooper and Myriam knew that she struggled in these conditions, yet she never complained. Myriam’s smile turned to a frown as she saw one of Qutaybah’s scouts riding down the pass at breakneck speed.
She pulled the reins of her horse to direct it towards the mercenary leader.
Qutaybah sat waiting on his horse with Artas at his side. This did not bode well. What had the scout seen that was so urgent?
“Sire, we cannot go any further,” the scout reported, pulling his horse to a stop by the side of his leader.
“What is it, Markus?” Qutaybah knew that this scout was a hardened warrior and would flinch at nothing.
“The lightning, it falls over the horizon, creating a barrier.” Markus panted with labored breath at his flight. “Come sire, you must see, but I truly think it bodes the end of the world.”
Most of the party stayed back, while only a few rode up the hill to reach the summit and look down upon the beginning of the mountain pass.
Artas was at the forefront with Qutaybah, and as they reached the top of the craggy hill, the sight before them was awe inspiring. Along the horizon, as far as the eye could see, was a flashing wall of lightening.
“I suspect that thing borders the whole of Mirnee.” Qutaybah was the first to speak. “It reeks of power. We cannot go anywhere near it.”
Myriam had followed slowly behind, and she was just arriving to join them.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she announced, looking upon the flashing barrier. “We are prisoners of Mirnee.”
“I don’t think we are meant to be prisoners,” Qutaybah said thoughtfully. “The barrier is not there to keep us in, but rather to keep people out.”
14
The hideout in the caves was perfect. It was warm and dry with plenty of provisions and fresh water. Azmariddian led them to the lower caverns to show them the underground lake.
“Eventually, it brings you into old and ancient tunnels that lead to the city,” he told them. “It is a taxing journey, but for men such as yourself it should not prove too difficult. I did it many a time in my youth.”
“You might not have realized it, Azmariddian, but you have planned well. We have stores, a hideout none should find, and a way back into the palace undetected. I could not have hoped for more,” Ganry praised the old man.
“It is the nature of a druid to have many such secret hideouts. One never knows the way the wind will blow regarding the tolerance of my kind.” Azmariddian replied. “Do you have any plans in mind?”
“Not yet.” Ganry had yet to work out exactly what the danger was. He knew Cronos and his father were possessed, so was his bodyguard Rochmyr and his advisor Torno.
“I’ll need to scout around more to try and see exactly what we are up against. I want you two to stay here. The time will come when you will play your part. I will first follow the inner passageways in the palace walls to see if I can observe Cronos. Much depends upon what transpires there but I would like to visit with my uncle, if I can, to find out what is happening in the city. I also need to leave word for Linz. He should arrive soon with the wolf shaman. She knows about the spirit world, probably more than any of us.”
“Is there nothing we can be doing, meanwhile?” Hendon asked, frustrated at being left behind.
“Build up your strength and practice those skills you both possess. I have a feeling we are going to need it before this over.” Ganry suggested. “I’ll return as quickly as I can, and hopefully with company, if the shaman has arrived.”
“Here take this,” Azmariddian passed him a bright stone. “I have enchanted it to light when you hold it in your hand, otherwise it will darken. You will need it to see your way through the tunnels, and then the passageways of the palace. ”
Ganry took the strange red stone from Azmariddian with some trepidation. He had come to accept that there was such a thing as magic, but he was still not comfortable with it.
Ganry wasted no more time and prepared to leave. He stripped off his clothes, leaving just a a pair of leather breeches. It was necessary to wrap his weapons and clothing in an oilcloth, to protect them from the water. As he tied this to his back, he shivered involuntarily, stepping into the freezing cold water.
Slowly he waded in until the water was chest deep. Taking a long deep breath to fill his lungs with air, he dived below the surface. Azmariddian’s stone was in his hands as he swam and it shone with a pale glow, cutting through the darkness of the water. He swam to the bottom of the lake and spotted the entrance to the tunnel he had been instructed to seek. Quickly, he entered it.
The druid had told him that once in the tunnel it should be fairly straightforward. Ganry was to follow it through until he could see the brightness of the surface once again. Then he could swim upwards and enter the cavern on the other side. Swimming as quickly as he could, he felt the pressure in his chest beginning to build. His lungs felt fit to burst as he held his breath. Just when he thought he could go no more, the water brightened. Now going in an upwards motion, his head bobbed up at the other side. All he could do was gulp in air to his lungs, knowing he could not have lasted much longer.
Clambering out of the water, he sat on the edge of the lake, breathing steadily for a few moments, until he felt the pounding in his head subside. Unraveling the oil cloth, he dressed and soon the cold numbness began to leave his body. Arming himself with his sword and dagger, he was now ready to continue this lonely journey.
Once he was up and on his way, he followed the underground tunnel as Azmariddian had advised. There was still a fair distance to go, but it was straight forward as the tunnel wound through the cliff and towards the city. It was not unpleasant, but the air was thick and the darkness was ever pervading. He was grateful for the bright stone that Azmariddian had given him. There were very few alive today that knew the existence of these tunnels, and for that, Ganry was grateful. It would be a great advantage for them, to be able to move in and out of the city, and the palace, undiscovered.
***
Cronos awoke with a feeling of absolute horror. He was in his bed and his body was sweating profusely. It took him a moment to realize where he was. For now, he had gained control of his body and mind. He must find Azmariddian. Maybe he could help him to keep the demon out of his head.
Jumping out of his bed, he ran for the door, but it was locked.
Don’t be a fool, boy! A voice yelled in his head. I’m being gentle with you. Can’t have you dying on me. I need you alive, for now, at least. You will stay in your room until I require you.
“Stop it!” Cronos cried out, holding his head at the pain the voice caused. “Go away, whoever you are. I won’t let you back in.”
I don’t need your permission, I already have access any time I need it. Now rest, you fool, while I allow it.
“Leave me alone!” Cronos shouted, falling onto his bed, sobbing.
What was happening to him? Half the time he did not know where he was, locked in a black room with no walls, no floor, just seemingly floating. All the while his head hurt, as if it would explode.
“Father!” he shouted out.
He must find his father, he must get help. If this was his gift for his tenth birthday, he did not want it any more.
The door opened and Torno, the wolf man entered his room.
“Torno, get my father, quickly, before it returns. Hurry,” Cronos called out to his trusted friend, as he jumped from the bed and rushed towards the door.
“Be quiet, boy,” Torno growled at him, a viciousness in his voice that stunned Cronos. “Do you want to be beaten? I would gladly oblige. My mistress needs you alive for now, but I can beat you if I wish.”
“Torno, what has happened to you?” Cronos said, looking at the person he thought was his friend and protector.
“I am Barbatos, the Great Hunter. Called upon at my mistress’s bidding. You do well to kneel at my feet, human.”
“No, you are Torno, the great wolf man.” Cronos stood up to the man standing before him. “Listen to me, Torno, I know you are still in there. I can feel your presence. Fight this demon that possesses you, Torno. Do it. Do it now, before it’s too late. You are strong enough to rid your mind of this devil.”
A great pain shot through the boy’s head as the man struck him across the face.
“I have hunted the wolf within this body,” the demon’s voice echoed in Cronos’s ears. “I am a leader of legions. Do not test me, human boy. The wolf man will be gone altogether, soon enough. His spirit will wander aimlessly in the void. It is only a matter of time.”
With that, Barbatos left the room, slamming the door behind him. Cronos heard it lock.
Something must have happened on the night of his ceremony. He vaguely recalled how one moment he was encompassed with a warmness on the path in the spirit world, but then something changed. The benevolent spirit was replaced by a malevolent one. That must be it. It went wrong. He had to escape, find his father and his Palaran allies. They would help him, they had helped before. If only he could get to them.
15
Progress was slow for Linz and his party. The roads were patrolled by Mirnean soldiers, who were stopping everyone they came across. He had witnessed foreigners fleeing from Mirnee being arrested and taken off in carts. Linz remembered the decree that had been announced just before they left, ordering all outsiders to leave the country, or face arrest. With this in mind, it might be best not to use the main roads. Instead, they took the rarely used paths and tracks, intertwined through the woods and copses. These were a prominent features of the landscape in this part of Mirnee.
As they drew closer to the palace, the storm abated a little, but it did seem that all of Mirnee was caught in a dramatic climatic change. Where there should be sun and heat, there was now howling winds, heavy rain and dark clouds.
Despite taking the less direct route, they managed to make good time, almost reaching the outskirts of the city. In the distance a small farmstead looked an inviting place to rest a while, and maybe stock up on provisions.
“I’ll take my men and investigate the smallholding first, Grecia,” Linz ventured. “If all’s clear, I’ll signal for you to join us. I don’t want to alarm the farmer with a large group of strangers showing up at his doorway, especially in such difficult times.”
Grecia nodded her agreement and ordered her party to stay undercover in the woods.
Linz was followed by his men as they moved down the hill towards the farmstead. They still approached with caution, and as they they drew near they could hear angry raised voices.
“I said more rare than medium!” a grating male voice echoed out of the open doorway. “Can your woman not cook? Do me another.”
Linz’s scouting party moved stealthily closer, until they were crouched under a window of the farmhouse. Carefully, they peered into the kitchen, only to witness a group of five Mirnean soldiers seated at the kitchen table, and downing their meals voraciously. A frightened looking woman cooked at a sizzling stove, and a man poured mead into mugs. The face of the farmer was also nervous, and it was obvious from his demeanor that the soldiers were not invited guests.
Linz was torn between attacking the soldiers, or walking away. They really needed to be meeting up with Ganry and Hendon and could ill afford to be caught up in a local issue like this. No matter how much he sympathized with these people, he was reluctant to help them. He was still pondering the best way forward, when something happened that made his decision for him.
A small child, carrying a bucket filled with water, turned the corner and walked straight into Linz and his companions. The boy was clearly terrified at being confronted by four heavily armed men, crouching outside his house. He dropped his bucket and ran past them before Linz could react. The child ran into the farmhouse, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“Shut your brat up!” one of the soldiers called out as the boy entered the kitchen, blabbering about strangers in the herb plot.
“Go see what’s out there,” the sergeant of the group commanded, between mouthfuls of dripping meat fat.
Of the five soldiers, two of them tore themselves away from the table to carry out their orders.
It was too late for Linz and his men to run, they would not get far. The decision to face the Mirneans was the only option. Linz, and the three men with him, stood up, moving away from the window, just as the soldiers came out of the doorway.
“Halt, you there!” one shouted. “State your business here, and let me see your papers.”
“We are travelers, merely passing through,” Linz said in broken Mirnean. He had only little knowledge of the language. “We did not mean to be caught up in your business. Forgive us, and we will be on our way.”
“These men are not Mirnean,” the sergeant said as he came through the door to investigate what his own men had discovered.
“We are not Mirneans, yes, you are very observant, sir, but we are friends of Mirnee,” Linz tried to pacify the huge sergeant, who looked at them askance.
“I say we kill them, sarge,” one of the soldiers said. “They be foreigners and should not be here, so close to the Mistress.”
Linz instantly understood what the soldier had said about killing them, but it was the word “mistress” that set off alarm bells in his head. Were these men possessed too?
“Just what we need boys, a bit of sport after a hearty meal,” the sergeant smiled wickedly, displaying a mouth full of broken and rotting teeth. “Let’s kill them. Kill them now.”
The other soldiers needed no further encouragement. They drew their swords and lunged at Linz and his men.
***
Grecia observed from the woodlands as the Palarans moved towards the farmhouse. She had sensed something was not quite right when they had entered the courtyard of the farmstead. It had only been a vague feeling, and she could not pinpoint the exact problem. All she knew was her keen senses were alert.
She pondered her thoughts as she patiently awaited for Linz’s sign. These few days was meant to be a time of celebration for Cronos, starting his second decade of life. He had written to her explaining that he was to be bestowed with a new magical skill, but from Linz’s account of the ceremony, something had gone wrong. Grecia could not help but feel that the situation had echoes of events from a few years ago, when the witches had risen the dead and marched on Palara. She could not shake the feeling that somehow, Thalia, the witch queen, was involved in this.
A sudden movement from below shook her from her thoughts. As she looked down, she could see Linz and his men under attack. Mirnean soldiers had appeared from inside the farmhouse. She turned to her companions and nodded, and as one they all changed form, almost instantly turning into huge wolves. Craning back their necks, they howled long and deep, before charging down to the fighting humans below.
***
Linz and his Lakemen quickly took defensive postures as the rogue soldiers attacked them. The Lakeland chief parried a blow from the large sergeant. The clash of the two blades was so powerful it almost caused him to drop his weapon, as the reverberations spread throughout his body. He quickly backed off and ducked, as the sharp blade of his opponent was aimed at his head.
A quick glance to his men showed that they were struggling too. These were experienced warriors, that was why he had chosen them to accompany him. They were as good, if not better, than most men in combat. Yet, they struggled to contain the ferocious assault of these Mirnean soldiers.
Linz parried another blow, but staggered back from the force. He tripped over a log on the ground. With a triumphant yell, the sergeant swung his sword, readying to strike the fatal blow. Young Linz raised his sword to block, but in his heart he knew it would be pointless. This soldier had bested him, and now he was coming in for the kill. As he readied himself for the final blow, a sudden blur of grey fur streaked before his eyes. Looking up, the soldier was gone.
The large blue-grey wolf, Grecia, had seen the danger. She charged full speed down the hill. Her keen eyes taking in all the details. For a quick moment, she did not think she would make it in time, as the soldier swung his sword against Linz, certain of his victory. She leapt at the large human soldier, while still a good distance away. If she did not act instantly, then it would be too late for Chief Linz. She flew through the air, landing between Linz and his attacker. Upon impact, she snapped at the unprotected throat of the sergeant. He might be large, but his flesh was still soft and no match for long canines. With a whip of her strong jaws, she ripped out his throat.
Linz quickly jumped to his feet, readying to fight on as he was unsure where his attacker had got to. Once he had gained his balance, he lowered his guard. The man staggered backwards, a look of total disbelief written on his face. He even had time to reach his hands up to his neck and feel the gaping wound. Bubbling deep red blood flowed through his fingers. His knees gave way and he dropped to the floor, staying like that for just a second, before falling forward onto his face. A dark stain pooled out from underneath him.
As he lay there, the body convulsed and writhed upon the ground. Linz watched wide eyed as a green ethereal mist detached from the fallen corpse. The stench of sulfur was strong in the air. Linz watched on incredulously, as the strange and unnatural mist rose higher and higher, until it dissipated into the sky.
Once their leader had fallen, the other Mirneans seemed to lose the will to fight as if they no longer had to. They quickly turned on their heels and ran as fast as they could, towards the city.
“Leave them!” Linz shouted as two of his men set off in pursuit. “We need to move before more arrive.”
Grecia and her companions changed back into human form, and watched as the soldiers escaped. Grecia now understood the seriousness of the situation, and they needed to act quickly.
“We must find Ganry at great speed. Time is crucial if we are to stop these demons,” she said to Linz.
“How can we fight against such men?” Linz exclaimed, still in some shock from his close encounter with death. “If it hadn’t been for you and your pack, we would all be dead.”
“Do not despair, Linz,” Grecia tried to reassure the Lakeman. “If you stick them with a sword, then they will bleed and die, just like everyone else. Their bodies are possessed by powerful demons, and they are indeed strong in battle, but not invincible. They were not all fully possessed, only the leader. But now I understand what it is we face. I fear we must act swiftly before more are taken. An army of these creatures could easily conquer our world. We must find Ganry and find him soon!”
16
Ganry made his way through the secret palace tunnels. It was amazing that he had been unaware there was a network of hidden passageways behind the palace walls, even though he had known the palace well as a boy. Every chamber could be watched through spy holes that were cunningly hidden in the walls. As a child, Ganry could have had such fun spying on the various occupants. Such thoughts made him smile as he tread carefully in the dusty space. The passageways were narrow and only large enough for one person. In some places it was a tight squeeze for someone with shoulders as wide as his.
His first call would be Cronos’s chamber. He needed to find the Emperor’s son and see how he fared. He knew exactly where the bedroom was located, as he had slept in it as a boy. Soon, he was peering through the hole situated within a small candle alcove. It gave a clear view of the bed. He could not believe his luck when he spotted the boy sleeping. He decided to wait for Cronos to awaken before making his move. Right now he had no idea how much control the boy or the demon had. Patiently, he sat and rested, waiting in the darkness.
Ganry was uncertain of the length of time that had passed; it had seemed like hours that he watched over the sleeping boy. He was just considering moving on, to check on the Emperor, when Cronos sat up quickly, his head moving from side to side as if he was confused by his surroundings. Ganry said nothing. Although he wanted to call out, he resisted. First he had to be certain of who was in control of Cronos’s mind. He observed as the boy unsteadily climbed out of the bed, and moved towards the door. Unable to see beyond the bed, Ganry could hear the door handle being turned. After a few more seconds Cronos came back into view and sat on the bed. It seemed he was locked in his bedroom.
It appeared to Ganry that Cronos was acting much more like himself. Perhaps it was worth the risk of letting him know that he was not alone. He moved his head closer to the wall and quietly called out his name.
“Who’s there? Go away!” the boy shouted clearly, putting his hands to his head and covering his ears. “I know you’re trying to get back in my head. I won’t allow it. Go away!”
Ganry could see the boy was distressed, but he could not afford to let this opportunity pass him by. He had to make contact with him.
“Cronos, listen to me,” Ganry continued. “I’m hidden in a passage in the wall. You have to believe me. This is real. I am not just a voice in your head. I am Ganry de Rosenthorn, in the flesh, and I need to get you out of here.”
Cronos put his hands down, and he walked over to the wall where the voice seemed to come from.
“Ganry, is it truly you?” he laughed. “Mercy be, I do believe it is.”
“It’s me, Cronos. There is a secret door over by the far corner, where the dresser is. Just give me a moment and I’ll get you out of here.”
Ganry made his way towards the hidden door, and was fumbling in the dark for the latch that would open it, when suddenly he heard Cronos’s chamber door burst open.
Ganry could not see into the room from here, but he could hear the jangling of armor and swords. Guards were in Cronos’s room, of that he was certain. He held his position hoping they were just delivering food.
“You are commanded to come with us. The mistress demands it,” Ganry heard a guard speak.
“No, I want to stay in my room!” Cronos shouted at them. “I’m tired, leave me to sleep a little longer.”
The guards said nothing more, but Ganry could hear a scuffle and he guessed they were dragging the boy out of his bedchamber. He needed to act now, and quickly, before they left with the boy, but he could not find the latch in the dark.
Frantically, he ran his fingers down the edge of the door, and at last he had it. Pressing the lever he heard the door unlock, but as he pushed to open it, the door would not move. Something was behind it. He pressed his shoulder against the door and pushed with all his strength. It gave way and Ganry went tumbling into the room. Immediately, he reached for his sword, but too late, the room was empty.
Cronos had been taken.
***
Cronos had no idea where in the palace they were taking him. He just hoped that Ganry would find him, for they had come so close to escaping. The two men accompanying him looked familiar. They weren’t ordinary palace guards, of that he was certain. From their uniforms, they looked like senior commanders of the royal guard.
“Where is my father?” he asked one of them, trying to sound authoritative. They were his men and should obey his orders. When they ignored him, he raised his voice and shouted at them. “I demand to know where your Emperor is!”
He had hoped to attract the attention of others, but he had not actually seen anyone else since he had been forcibly dragged from his room. The palace corridors were completely deserted. No soldiers nor servants.
Ah, I see you are ready for the ceremony, young Cronos, a voice echoed in his head.
That was the voice, the one that had caused him pain on the darkened pathway during his bestowing ceremony.
“Who are you?” he demanded of the voice, loudly.
Not who, but what am I? That is what you should be asking. I am the all-powerful witch Queen Thalia, and soon everyone will kneel before me, or die. All thanks to you.
Cronos felt a chill run through him. He could not understand why it would be thanks to him, but the thought filled him with dread.
They arrived at the throne room where the guards handed him over to a group of women, whose heads were covered in black veils that matched their long black dresses. They grabbed him with an uncanny strength and dragged him inside the throne room. The chamber was different, he saw. The thrones were still there, but in the middle of the room was a stone table. The women pulled him towards the table, and forced him to lay down upon it. As soon as he did so, his arms and legs were restrained with leather straps embedded in the stone.
The women circled the table, chanting words that Cronos had never heard before. Strange guttural sounds that filled him with dread. On the walls, torches burned, the light flickering with an eerie green glow.
“What are you doing?” he cried out. “I demand to see my father. You cannot do this to me!”
His cries were ignored as the women continued to circle him, still chanting the same strange words.
The chorus built to a crescendo, and they all stopped their movements, reaching up with their arms into the air. The circle parted and a figure approached, also wearing a long dark gown. Cronos could not determine if it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was, it mumbled words under its breath. Again, words that he could not make out. When the figure approached, he saw something glinting in the hands. With a growing horror he realized that it was an ornate dagger. A golden blade encrusted with gems down the middle, the sharp edge glinting in the torch light.
The figure grew nearer and pulled back the cowl of the cloak, only to reveal the most beautiful face Cronos had ever seen. Pale white skin, blemish free, with a perfectly proportioned nose and mouth, with dark red lips. All framed with thick long black hair. It was the eyes that drew him in. Dark pools of mystery. The longer he stared, the less anxious he felt. His body completely relaxed, and he no longer pulled at his restraints.
The beautiful woman leaned forward and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back. Cronos did not object or even try to resist. The eyes were hypnotic, overcoming any resistance he may have had. Even when the knife blade was placed at his throat, he simply lay there, not recovering from the trance-like state. Not until he felt the sharp blade cut into his skin.
A goblet was produced and placed at the wound, until it was full with his red fluid. When it was removed, he could feel his blood trickling down his neck and soaking into the fabric of his tunic.
The woman disappeared, and Cronos began to feel dizzy as his life’s blood poured from his body. Was this it? Was it time to die? The thoughts were instantly dismissed as the beautiful enchantress returned, holding the goblet and pressing it to his lips.
“Cronos, son of Emperor Nestor Fontleroy of Mirnee,” she said, as she looked into his eyes. “Take this and drink.”
He felt the warm liquid enter his mouth, and he knew it was his own blood. They had done something to it; it was bitter, and burned his tongue. He did not want to drink the foul contents, but he could not resist the beautiful woman. He drank deeply, and willingly, draining the cup.
“It is done,” the woman said to the others in the room as if she was happy. “Now we simply await until our mistress is returned to us.”
“What of the boy?” one of the others asked.
“Leave him, his blood will slowly drain out of his pathetic human body. He will have a few hours to lay and contemplate on his fate.”
With that, they began to leave the throne room. Cronos remained tied to the stone table, his blood pooling around his weak, pale frame.
17
“It’s the only way, my Lady,” Qutaybah urged Myriam on. “One day’s good ride, and we can be at the forest that borders Vandemland. Once we cross into my homeland, we can look at how to get you home.”
“I know you’re right,” Myriam responded. “But I’m reluctant to turn my back on my people. They need me to help them through the growing threat from Mirnee.”
“Qutaybah’s right, Myriam,” the Duchess joined in the debate. “We can do nothing for our home while we’re stuck here, on the wrong side of Mount Palmern.”
“Besides,” Qutaybah interjected, “the men I sent ahead may have crossed before the wall was conjured. If so, they are in Palara, warning your people of the dangers. They have not returned to us and neither have we found their bodies on the road.”
Queen Myriam reluctantly agreed, and the order was passed on that it was time to mount up and move out. Traveling to Vandemland was quicker, and probably safer than following the other route to the Kingdom of Palara. The journey was known to be hazardous and long.
With the decision made they wasted no time heading out, and made quick headway, even through the abysmal weather conditions. They backtracked until they had returned to the point where Qutaybah had pondered earlier, on whether to go to his own home or not. Now, he wondered if his sixth sense had given him a premonition of the troubles that had been ahead.
Almost a day’s ride away was the thick, impenetrable Forest of Chervin, the only part of Mirnee that bordered his homeland. Once in there, he would feel safer than out on the open plains of Mirnee. He was also becoming concerned for his royal entourage, especially the Duchess D’Anjue. Although she had not complained once, he could see the difficulties for her the longer this journey went on. Yes, the sooner they were in Vandemland, the better.
Qutaybah pulled on the reins of his horse and turned to the queen and her party.
“We need to ride hard now to make the forest. The open plain is dangerous for us, and I fear there are eyes watching. I have felt it since the pass.”
“We are grateful for your help, Qutaybah,” the Duchess said as she moved uncomfortably on her sturdy grey dappling. “But, I know I slow the party down. I’m happy for you all to all to ride at speed and…”
“Grandmother! I will not hear of it, and neither will Qutaybah,” Myriam cried, shocked at the thought of leaving her grandmother behind. “We did not rescue you from the Akkedis, only to lose you now. Besides, I cannot run the kingdom without you by my side. Now, please, we will have no more of this foolish talk.”
With that, Myriam turned the white bay she was riding, and refused to speak on the subject any further.
“It seems I have been reprimanded by my own granddaughter,” the Duchess smiled at the two men who had witnessed the scene.
“Duchess, we would never have agreed to it anyway,” Artas replied. “We all ride together or not at all.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s ride,” the Duchess said, before spurring her horse and galloping off across the plain.
Artas and Qutaybah grinned at each other.
“She always had spirit,” Qutaybah spoke admiringly. “Come, we must follow quickly, before she gets too far ahead.”
They soon caught up with the Duchess as the horses galloped at full speed across the plain. The forest was visible on the horizon, despite the foul weather. Qutaybah was beginning to relax a little, as soon they would be inside the tree-line. Once in the forest they would be much safer. It was a perfect border for his homeland, thick and dense, and no one could pass who wasn’t familiar with the route through. Legend has it that a whole invading army had been lost in the forest, never to be seen again. Added to that, some say the spirits of the lost can be heard on a quiet evening, still searching for a way out.
Artas sensed rather than saw the danger. He felt a prickly feeling down the back of his neck as he quickly scanned the horizon, but could see nothing through the rain. He rode up beside the Vandemlander leader.
“I fear we are not alone,” he reported, his eyes scanning the road ahead.
Qutaybah nodded his agreement. “I have felt it for a while. We are almost there. If we could just make the forest, we…”
The sentence was left unfinished. Immediately from the left, a group of soldiers appeared riding hard. As they approached they split up, two moving straight for the queen, the others attacking Qutaybah’s men.
Artas spotted the danger and wheeled his horse around, to defend the Queen and Duchess. The attackers were quicker, and before he could reach them, two men were upon Myriam, swords in hand.
***
Myriam was alert. She had been for almost an hour, with an uncomfortable feeling that plagued her. These were strange times. A barrier of lightening blocked her way home, and the Kingdom of Mirnee was once again in turmoil. For now, she could not concern herself with the people of Mirnee. It was her own kingdom that she needed to protect, and she could not do that from here.
Glancing at her grandmother, who she knew was a resilient old lady, she just hoped that she could last out for a little longer, but the ride was taking its toll on her. If only Ganry were here. She knew not how she would manage without her rock by her side. Though Artas was quickly becoming experienced, he was not yet as seasoned as Ganry.
Pulled from her thoughts, she could see to her right that two figures approached on horseback, moving at speed with swords in hand. One headed directly towards her grandmother. Without thinking, as if some primal instinct had taken over, she spurred her horse sidewards to barge into her grandmother’s horse. It forced the grey dappling to jump sidewards sharply, just as one of the Mirneans thrust his sword right into the spot that the Duchess’s horse had just vacated.
Seamlessly, and in a single fluid motion, Myriam drew her sword, and turned her horse to face her own attacker. He was now almost upon her. Her weapon raised, she parried the blow, but the force of his strike sent her sword tumbling from her hand.
The attacker raised his sword again, a menacing leer on his scarred face. Myriam was defenseless and unable to protect herself. The Palaran queen braced herself for the final strike.
***
Myriam’s actions had given Artas a few valuable seconds, which was all he needed. Riding at a gallop, he was soon upon the attacker. Just in time, he thrust his sword into his opponent’s side, between the gaps in his armor, just as his mentor, Ganry, had taught him. He felt some satisfaction as the sword slid easily into the soft flesh, giving a fatal blow, he was certain. Yet, his enemy did not fall. Instead, he turned to face him, sword swinging down in an arc which Artas only just managed to avoid. Artas was stunned. The man should be dead, or at least seriously wounded. Unbelievably, he was still fighting.
The man engaged him again. This time Artas was ready for him, avoiding his blow and countering with one of his own. Again, he felt the man’s flesh yield to his blade as he thrust it into his body. Still, his enemy remained on his horse, and now he had more to contend with as a second attacker also rode at him.
Artas was in a fight for his life and a battle madness kicked in. No matter how many times he struck with his sword, his opponents seemed oblivious to their wounds. He parried their blows, using all the tricks that Ganry had taught him. The clever feints and body postures, but he was beginning to tire.
As he glanced around, hoping for help, he could see that Qutaybah and his men were all engaged in their own battles. The situation was becoming desperate. He did not fear for his own life, but his Queen’s. Ganry had bestowed on him the role of protecting Myriam, and he worried that he was going to fail in his personal quest.
“Their heads, Artas!” the Queen yelled at him. “Aim to cut off their heads!”
Leaning back to avoid a blow, he let his momentum take him forward, and swung his sword aiming right at the man’s neck. It was a difficult target beneath all the armor, but Artas cut clean through. The severed head flew into the air, before landing with a thud on the ground. An arc of almost black blood spurted from the neck of the body that still sat upon the horse. Slowly, the corpse slumped forward to the horse’s mane. The horse bolted with the smell of death upon his back, galloping across the plain. The headless rider remained prone in the saddle.
Artas had no time to drop his guard. The second attacker was unperturbed by the fate of his comrade, and leaped into battle. Artas felt a sharp sting on his upper arm as his opponent’s sword sliced through his tunic and into his arm. The cut was not deep, but it was painful, and left him vulnerable.
He was tiring rapidly, the new wound making it more difficult to fight as his attacker came at him relentlessly. The swinging sword arm seemed oblivious to any counter Artas made. The man had a strange blankness to his eyes. Another possession, of that he was certain. How could they fight demons?
Just as he felt that all was lost, help came from an unexpected source. A long doleful howl cut through the air, which was answered with another, and then another. Seemingly, from all around, the group was surrounded with the echoing sound. The baying seemed to unsettle his attacker, as his head moved from side to side as if urgently trying to seek the source of the noise.
From out of the murky rain leapt a huge wolf, crashing into the Mirnean soldier, pushing him from his horse. The beast was quickly upon him, growling and shaking its head from side to side as its jaws clamped around the man’s throat, tearing into vulnerable flesh.
Artas looked around and discovered a whole pack of wolves were engaged in battle with the Mirnean soldiers. Many of their enemy were already dead, and others desperately attempted to fend off their lupine opponents.
Qutaybah took advantage of the mayhem, riding up to Artas and Myriam.
“Ride. Quickly ride,” he urged them. “To the forest. We will be safe in there.”
All spurred forward, riding as fast as their battle hardened horses could take them. The forest was close, just a few more minutes and they would be in its protection.
As they rode Myriam noticed a dark shadow in the rain, just off from the track. Once they drew closer, she was horrified to see a small group of familiar witches. Sitting in a semi-circle, they were seemingly in some sort of trance. Myriam felt a chill down her back. The witches have returned, though they did not seem to control the soldiers as they had in the last battle. This was something different, something much more sinister. So what were the witches conjuring?
Without stopping, they were soon entering the edges of the forest, taking cover in the first line of trees. They continued to ride on through the dense woodland, with Qutaybah leading the way. Despite the darkness of the forest, and the large prickly shrubs which were everywhere, he seemed to know exactly where to go, and in no time they were deep inside.
“We can dismount and rest for a while,” Qutaybah panted, as they entered a clearing.
“Are you sure we’re safe here?” Artas queried, still concerned for the safety of his queen.
“This forest has protected Vandemland for thousands of years. Nothing passes through that it does not allow,” he explained. “We are safe here, even from witches and demons.”
They were all grateful to be off the broad backs of the horses, the Duchess needing help to dismount from hers. The horses were equally glad to be rid of the extra weight, snorting and nodding at the humans as they danced on their hooves.
Myriam noticed Artas’s wound for the first time, and quickly tended to him.
“There are herbs and roots in this forest that aid healing quickly,” Qutaybah informed them. “I will send my men to gather them. They know them well.”
“That was close,” Artas breathed heavily, while Myriam was cleaning his cut. “If it hadn’t been for the wolves…” He left the sentence unfinished, but all knew how close they had come to meeting their maker.
“Were they the wolf people?” the Duchess asked.
“Nay, they were just wolves,” Artas replied. “I wonder if Grecia has arrived. If she has, and she’s aware of what’s happening, she may have called upon them.”
“Did you see the witches?” Myriam queried, hoping it had just been a figment of her imagination, a thought soon quashed by Qutaybah’s response.
“Yes, I saw the hags. I’ve been sensing their presence for a while, but couldn’t be certain,” he responded. “It explains the barrier across the pass. They are conjuring up the storms and blockages.”
“But there’s no barrier here,” Artas noted.
“No, this is an ancient forest,” Qutaybah said. “It’s stood here for many a millennia, and seems impervious to outside magic, other than nature’s own.”
Myriam looked around at the old and gnarled trees with a growing respect. She had heard tales of Chervin Forest when she was a child. It had always been portrayed as a dark and dangerous place, but now she was here she felt no fear.
“Let us not rest for too long,” Qutaybah instructed. “I would like to be sleeping in my own lands this evening.”
18
Ganry set off, searching for Cronos in the palace. It was slow going, moving around these hidden passageways, and very limiting. He needed to walk freely around the palace corridors while they were so deserted. This seemed strange as the palace had always been a hive of activity in the past. If he was to move around without suspicion though, he would need to disguise himself.
Finding an exit, it brought him out into the far reaches of a kitchen’s cold room. This was perfect, as he doubted the cooks would even notice him. They would think him a stable hand, or other worker of some sort. Deciding the best strategy was to walk boldly through the kitchen, rather than skulking in the corners, he made swiftly for the exit. As he passed a pile of fresh bread rolls, his stomach rumbled. He had not eaten for hours, and picked one up, biting into the warm dough.
“Out of my kitchen!” a cook yelled, looking at him red faced and angry at the intrusion in his domain.
Ganry decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and made a quick exit, but not before tipping a wink at the cook. She rewarded him with a smile, despite her annoyance.
Once out of the kitchen area he turned into the corridor, heading towards a flight of stone steps. This was the servants’ route, and should give access to every floor in the palace. Taking the steps two at a time he bounded up to the next level. At the top, he carefully looked down the hallway, spotting a guard on duty at the far end. Trying to look casual, he strolled down the corridor towards the guard, as if he had every right to be here. It seemed to work as the guard simply ignored him, even when he drew closer.
Ganry was pleased to see the man was about his size, perhaps a little more portly, but that’s an occupational hazard with guard duty; it’s easy to become fat and slow. Ganry got closer to the guard, who lifted his head and looked at him, but after a quick glance, the guard dismissed him from his thoughts.
Ganry was now close enough to strike, and he did. A swift uppercut to his chin, and the guard staggered back, but remained on his feet. Ganry followed up with a knee into his groin, causing him to double over with his hands cradling his masculinity. Ganry drew his sword, but with no intention on killing the guard, he brought his hilt down hard on the back of his head. That seemed to do the trick, as he finally fell with a low grunt. Blood seeped from the wound in his scalp.
Ganry grabbed his feet and pulled him along the corridor, dragging him into a linen cupboard. Shutting the door behind them both, he stripped the outer clothing off the guard, and a few other pieces of his uniform. He dressed himself in the uniform, and though it was a loose fit, it would serve its purpose. He tied up the guard’s hands and feet behind his back, and finally gagged him; he was taking no chances. He still had to find Cronos, and assess him to see if he was himself, or the demon.
With his disguise as a palace guard, he could walk around freely and nobody gave him a second glance. He decided to head to the throne room first. From there he would check the Emperor’s quarters. He climbed another flight of stairs to take him to the correct floor, heading towards the royal corridor where the throne room was situated.
As he stepped out into the corridor, he was forced to quickly step back out of sight. A group of witches were leaving a room and Ganry did not trust his disguise to their scrutiny. This was a bad turn of events. The last time the witches caused trouble, Palara had paid a heavy toll.
He stayed in the shadows until the witches were out of sight.
What were they doing in there? he wondered. What evil deeds were they up to this time?
He stepped back into the royal corridor once they had passed him by, and strode purposefully to the throne room. He was confident his disguise would hold, and doubted that every guard was familiar with each another. As he approached the double door to the throne room, he noticed it had been left open. He saw a small figure on a stone slab. Even from here he could make out the white hair of Cronos,
“Stop, soldier,” one of the guards commanded, blocking his way into the room with a pikestaff. “What business have you here?”
Ganry responded, “I’ve come to dispose of the body.”
Just for a moment, Ganry thought his ruse would not work. The guard scrutinized him, and then looked back into the room at the prone body. Then, he lowered his pike and allowed him entry.
Ganry stepped into the room, fighting an urge to run to the boy. He moved slowly, as if unconcerned. As he approached the stone table, for a moment he feared the worst. The boy lay motionless, blood congealed around his neck. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he noticed the boy’s chest rise and fall. Cronos was still alive, but for how much longer?
He must act quickly if he was to save him, and get him to Azmariddian as soon as possible. He attempted to staunch the flow of blood, which thankfully was now only a trickle, with a strip from the bottom of his tunic. Grabbing a large canvas that draped across one of the thrones, he wrapped up the body, completely concealing it.
He could not risk the boy regaining consciousness and alerting the guards. He threw him over his shoulder as if he were a sack of provisions, and the boy grunted out a low sound. Glancing at the door, neither of the guards appeared to have heard the grunt. Boldly, he stepped through the doorway, and down the corridor. His nerves were on edge, just waiting for the guards to stop him. No such call came, and he turned the corner, out of their sight.
Not able to carry the body back through the kitchen to the secret passageway, as it would raise suspicions, he instead made his way down to the palace basement. He knew where the furnaces were for burning the waste of the palace. Anyone seeing him go in that direction would simply assume he was going there to burn the body.
Knowing the area well, from when he played as a child, he also knew that behind one of the huge furnaces was a small manhole that led down into a tunnel. From there he could gain access into the palace courtyard. It was a struggle maneuvering the boy through such confined spaces, but eventually they arrived out in the open air.
Fortune was on his side, as close by stood a wagon with a horse already hitched. Heading straight for it, he placed the boy in the back. Jumping in the front seat, he drove the wagon towards the heavily armed gates. Not one of the guards gave him a second glance as he rode out of the palace, still in his disguised uniform.
Just as Ganry was driving the wagon out of the palace compound, an old man came out of the laundry door, hands piled high with linen to deliver to the barracks. As the old man looked on, there was an empty space where his horse and cart should be. Surely his old nag had not wandered off on her own. He stood and scratched his head, wondering why anyone would want to steal his old horse, and his creaky cart. Returning to the hot laundry room, he alerted a guard of his loss. He could not do his duty without his cart. The guard shrugged, he dare do nothing unless ordered by his commander. This was just yet another odd event of many that were happening all over the palace.
As soon as they were out of sight of the palace, Ganry jumped off the wagon and checked on Cronos. All was not lost, as the boy still drew breath, but Ganry knew time was of the essence. How was he going to get the boy to Azmariddian? He would have to figure it out, and quickly, for Cronos’s life depended on it.
19
Entering the city had been easier than Linz thought it would be, if not a little uncomfortable. They had hidden in the wagon belonging to the farmer they had rescued from the palace soldiers. He was only too happy to help. The wagon was packed with crops intended for market, but first they had all laid on the wagon’s backboard, then they were covered with a tarpaulin, before being buried in vegetables. It was cramped, awkward and stifling, but if they wanted to enter the city, there was probably no easier way. There was only one moment when Linz felt they may be in trouble as they passed through the armed gates
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” the farmer complained. “Harassing a hardworking man who only sells the fruits of his honest labor. I should not have to be accosted by the likes of you!” the farmer raged at the two guards who were questioning him. “I have come to this city every week for as long as I can remember to sell my crops. Now, you stop me and search my wagon for what? Are you looking for rotten turnips? Well, go ahead, if you like to rummage stinking vegetables, be my guest.” His hand gestured for them to get on with it.
The two guards looked at each other dubiously, unsure who was going to dig about in a pile of dirty vegetables, when neither of them really expected to find anything. Both these guards had years of service on the gates and had never known such a high level of security. They did not know why, and no one was telling them anymore than they were telling the good people of the city. It seemed like madness reigned once again in the palace.
Only weeks ago they were celebrating their young heir on his coming tenth year, and now there was an uneasy sense about the whole city. A curfew put in place, and all foreigners ordered to be rounded up and thrown in the dungeons. Rumor had it that the Emperor was on his death bed, and the young prince was behaving erratically. Yet none dared question the orders they were told to perform. To do so would mean court martial and death.
To top it all, this was the season of summer. Normally it would be warm and bright in Mirnee, but these last few days heavy rain had lashed through the kingdom. Such ill winds did not bode well for a nation that was only just recovering from a witch uprising.
“On your way, old man, we’re only following orders,” the guard said in resignation as he waved him through.
Once in the market square, Linz and his group exited the wagon, out of sight of any prying eyes. He thanked the farmer for his help, for he had taken a great risk smuggling them in here. Had he been caught, Linz was in no doubt the farmer would have suffered the same fate as them.
“Outsiders have always been welcome in my country, friend.” The farmer gave a puzzled shake of his head. “I don’t know what’s got into our Emperor. Our borders have never been closed to other kingdoms.”
“There are dark times ahead of us,” Linz replied.
“You take care of yourselves,” the farmer warned. “Keep under those cloaks, you don’t want to be seen by the wrong people.”
“And you, too. It is not only outsiders who should fear the changes that are happening in Mirnee,” Linz replied as they clasped each other’s hands in a show of friendship.
Quickly, they made their way through the various layers of the city, keeping to the least populated streets and alleyways. If they saw any guards, they took cover until they had passed them by. The palace city was built in tiers, with the Emperor’s palace at the top. The lower the tiers, the poorer the residents. They were making their way to the wealthy merchants’ area, two tiers below the palace. There they would find Ganry’s uncle’s house.
Linz followed the instructions Ganry had given him, to make his way through each gate. The people of the city were nervous, he could tell. Everyone seemed to be wary of the guards. This worked to their advantage as they didn’t stand out so much, and it helped them blend in with the locals.
Finally, they were ringing the bell to a large gate, and Linz hoped he’d remembered Ganry’s instructions correctly. He sighed in relief when a man, who looked just as Ganry had described, arrived to answer the ringing bell. He stared at them nervously as he approached.
“Berne?” Linz called to him. “Are you Berne, manservant to Ludas?”
“Who asks?”
“Ganry has sent us. We need your help.”
Berne stared at them for a moment through the small peek hole in the gate. His eyes flitted over each of them, until he was sure he had inspected them all. Just for a moment, Linz feared he had the wrong place, and the man would leave them outside in the street. Then, he could hear the manservant rattling his keys as he unlocked the gate on the other side, and beckoned them into the courtyard.
Linz was quietly relieved. Even more so when they entered the house, because sitting at a kitchen table, was Ganry himself. No wonder the servant had been nervous.
“You found Grecia. Well done Linz, my young friend,” Ganry hailed the chief in greeting as they embraced each other.
“Grecia, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Ganry welcomed the wolf people. “I have the boy, Cronos, and I fear for his life. He lays under some evil influence, though he is no longer possessed. Come, let’s go to him.”
Linz, his men, and the wolf woman’s companions, all stayed in the kitchen. Berne served them with hot refreshments, while Ganry and Grecia went to tend to Cronos.
“We cannot stem the bleeding from the cut to his throat,” Ganry explained, while Grecia looked over the boy. “I fear he will bleed out if we don’t find a way.”
He had feared he could not get Cronos to the druid, Azmariddian, in time. Now, hopefully, Grecia could save him.
“We need to work quickly, Ganry,” Grecia ordered, as she looked at the boy as he lay on the bed, even paler from the loss of blood.
She touched the wound and jolted back, as if in pain.
“There is a dark evil here. It feels centuries old.” Grecia shuddered as she spoke. “I have arrived just in time, as much longer and he would be past the point of no return. I can stem the bleeding, the spell is not a complicated one. When they cast it on him, they probably did not expect someone coming along to save him.”
Grecia quickly got to work, undoing the spell that was stopping Cronos’s skin from healing. She could not completely heal his body, that would happen naturally, and in time he would make up for the loss of blood. As she was tending to the open wound, Cronos opened his eyes.
“It is so good to see you, Grecia,” his voice was weak, but he managed a smile. “Am I free of that thing?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, stroking his forehead. “It is gone, and I will not allow it back again. Now sleep, we need you strong. When you awaken, you must eat and drink. For now have a sip of this water, and then back to your sleep. It is the best way to heal.”
He was grateful of the liquid in the cup, for he was parched. Sleep sounded wonderful, especially now that terrible pain in his head was gone.
20
“Am I not truly beautiful?” the tall woman asked of her commander, as she looked at her image in a mirror.
She turned to look at him when he did not reply immediately, causing her underling to cower where he stood.
“It’s as well I’ve no need for your response, Commander,” Thalia mocked the quaking man. “My wealth of beauty is insurmountable,” she said, and turned back to look at herself in the mirror. The commander sighed in relief.
“I will have a need to rest for long periods at a time. During my deep sleep I will be vulnerable, while I acclimatize to this world.” Mistress Thalia began to explain the reason why she had summoned him. “I expect guards around me day and night, until I am at full strength and can protect myself without any assistance.”
The commander nodded his understanding. “I will see to it, Mistress.”
“Now, on to other business. Are we certain the borders are closed? We want no interference from outsiders, until Mirnee is truly in my grip.”
“Your witches have enchanted barriers on most of the borders,” he informed her.
“Most?” The queen turned back to her commander, once again unhappy with his response.
“The borders on Vandemland, by the ancient forest, seem impervious to their magic,” the possessed commander replied nervously. “They have been unable to create a barrier there. As far as I am aware, that border remains open, but it is manned by your army.”
“How can this be? There is no greater magic than the magic I command!” Thalia pondered this for a moment, before continuing. “It matters not,” she said, flicking her hand as if to push the tiny problem away. “Soon I will have a bigger army of demons and this whole world will quiver at my presence.”
“Yes, my mistress,” he bowed slightly.
“And what of the boy?” she asked, wondering whatever had happened to Cronos.
“I am told his body was disposed of, in the furnace, Mistress,” the commander answered, though in reality he did not really know. Guards on the door of the throne room had witnessed the body being carried away to the furnace, so someone must have ordered the disposal.
“Good,” Thalia purred. The last thing I need, she thought to herself, is his magic to deal with. The boy had no idea of his true power, and neither did the people around him. It seems the truth of the royal albino had been forgotten. Fools, all of them. With him dead, Thalia doubted there was any way for them to stop her.
“I will be opening a vortex in the dungeon. It will be safe from prying human eyes down there. Has the dungeon been prepared for me, as I requested?” she queried the commander.
“Yes, Mistress,” the commander spoke robotically. “All is ready and prepared just as you have instructed.”
“Then go, and warn the coven I will be performing the ceremony this very night. Let the gates of the underworld be unlocked, and the demons unleashed on this place.”
The commander hurried off to do his mistress’s bidding.
Almost all human commanders within the city were now possessed by a demon. Thalia controlled the leaders of the military, as well as the royal council. Every dictate from the council, would be enforced by the army. There had been some dissension, but that had been swiftly dealt with by public execution. There is nothing like the sight of comrades hanging from the city walls to ensure all follow commands. Soon, Thalia would no longer need the human army to enforce her will, she would have her own army of demons. Powerful beings, much stronger than any human. With these she would rule the whole world.
She made her way to the dungeon, pondering on the thought of ultimate power. For so long she had been trapped in the underworld, and now she was free. Nothing would please her more than wreaking havoc on the world that had dared to banish her.
As she entered the dungeon, Thalia was pleased to see it had been set up just as she had ordered. All the cages had been moved elsewhere, out into the courtyard and market place, for the people of Mirnee to see what would happen to those who do not bow to her will. The dungeon was perfect for the portal, situated deep under the palace, and remote from other levels. No one came here except for the jailers. Now the prisoners’ cages had been moved to public places, it should be undisturbed. The enclosed space would also help her channel her powers better.
An overpowering sulfurous aroma, that was ever present in the underworld, was already permeating the dungeon. Her coven of witches had already started, and as she approached she could hear the low melodic chant that would aid her in this coming task. Her witches had been useful in making the transition to this world easier. They had ensured the climate was suitable by darkening the skies and creating electrical storms. She could not abide the bright sunlight. The darkness of the underworld was more to her liking.
It did not take her long to create the vortex, for she had been rehearsing for hundreds of years, ever since she had been banished from this world. Channeling her thoughts between the two worlds, she pictured the underworld and the dungeon. This was one of the reasons for using this space: it provided a similar atmosphere to the other side. She imagined the two places and pictured the images in her head closer together. As they touched, a flash of brightness flooded the dungeon, and a swirling grey vortex appeared before her. Immediately, her minions streamed out. First the lowly servers, small creatures, dwarf-like in appearance. They were useless in battle, but loyal and faithful servants that would see to the day to day running of her empire.
“Stay within the palace walls, for now,” she commanded them, as they instantly went about their tasks.
Thalia stared back into the maelstrom that was before her, and quietly chanted a few words. A dark shadow filled the vortex, and a huge creature stepped through and into the dungeon.
This was Gragornok, her battle master and commander of her demon army. With him she would conquer everything. The huge beast approached, towering over her, and as he drew near he knelt on one knee, bowing before his mistress. He wore a long heavy leather jerkin, which covered his torso and fell down to his knees. It left his huge muscled arms bare, the skin a deep dark green, glistening in the candlelight of the dungeon. His hands were tipped with talons, fingers ending with razor sharp claws, flexed in his massive fists.
Around his waist was a heavy leather belt in which hung a scabbard that held a huge broadsword, so large no ordinary human could wield it. His bare stout and muscular legs, the same dark green, ended with feet broad and barefoot. He had a head that was large and broad, and also slightly flat at the top, completely devoid of hair. Bright and a fiery eyes that were red in color stared back at Thalia, sitting above a snout which protruded outwards, cut with a lipless mouth that was filled with long sharp canines.
“I am here as commanded, Thalia, glorious Queen of all that lives, and also that which does not.” His voice was deep and grunting, the sentences guttural and staccato. “I await your orders.”
“It is good to see you, Gragornok. Too long have we spent in the wilderness. Now we are free to take our rightful place as rulers of this world.”
The huge beast grunted his agreement.
“But we must be patient. You must stay here out of sight until the time is right. We must not show our hand too soon,” his mistress warned.
Gragornok grunted again, but this time impatiently. He was keen to kill all life, that was his purpose as a destroyer. For too long he had been confined in the underworld. Now, he was free amongst the living, and he had his mistress to thank for that. He would serve her well.
Thalia turned back to the vortex and chanted a long verse, again a flash of light, this time a birdlike creature flew into the dungeon. Its wingspan was so great it could not open them fully. It was followed by more of its kind, and they huddled together unsure of where they were.
Red veins pumped through thick leathery skin that covered their wings. Dark bodies, broad enough to carry a rider as they flew, stood tall. Long sharp beaks, made for killing prey, and vicious talons that matched, were perfect for ripping into flesh. These were formidable creatures. This particular flyer was adaptable to this world, for they had been here before. They were descendants of giant flying creatures that once lived in this world many years ago. These were the Asgwern.
“Ah, my beautiful beasts, you will soon be feeding upon the sweetest of blood and bones. Long has it been since you tasted the human flesh of this world. Work hard for me, and you will be richly rewarded,” Thalia declared for all to hear.
Suddenly, the light from the vortex filled the room again, and six beasts, similar to Gragornok, but smaller, entered into the dungeon. These were the riders of the Asgwern and would scout the land looking for their mistress’s enemies. Soon, further demons passed through the portal, consisting of a small troop that was here to run the palace, allowing her to remove the humans from the walls and grounds. This was the first stage in her plan.
Thalia chanted a few more words, and the vortex collapsed into itself. There would be time later to bring through her battalions of demons. For now, this was enough to start her conquest of this world.
21
“What was that?” Myriam asked as a dark shadow was suddenly seen in the sky.
They were still resting in a clearing, after their flight from the witches and the attacking soldiers.
Artas was first to answer. He had remained by her side where he knew he could protect her life.
“I’m not sure, my Lady,” he said, standing up to see if he could make it out.
Qutaybah also stood and scanned the skies.
“There, over there. What is that?” Artas pointed up at a dark shape that had appeared. It circled the gap in the trees, flying lower and lower.
“I don’t know,” Qutaybah replied. “Never have I seen such a thing in all my travels of the many kingdoms. We should take cover. I don’t think that creature is friendly.”
Before anyone could move, a deafening screech filled the air, infusing everyone with dread.
“Quickly, we have no time to lose. The beast has seen us.” Qutaybah spoke urgently as he urged everyone to follow him and head back to the thick forest, and into cover.
Another soulless screech echoed around the skies. Artas looked up again to see another flying beast. Now there were two. They were low in the sky, almost circling the top of the trees. He urged Myriam and the Duchess on, from behind. It did not take long to get into the protection of the dense forest.
The flying beasts did not stop their pursuit, though, even when they were under the cover of trees. Still, they could all hear the flapping of those huge wings above the canopy, as if they searched for a gap to look through. Sure enough, a huge head and beak poked through a break in the foliage, and screeched in triumph as it spotted the royal party. It tried to force its way through the dense intertwining branches, but was caught up in the entanglement as it attempted to enter.
It may have been a trick of the light, but as they watched, it appeared as if the trees closed in around it. Branches seemed to have a life of their own, wrapping around the creature and stopping it from entering further. The huge bird twisted and turned, but could not make any progress towards them. The more it tried, the deeper it became entwined in the forest.
Another deafening screech rang out, but this time not one of victory, but of panic and fear, as more branches encircled its body. All that could be seen was a writhing mass of branches and leaves that seemed to be squeezing the very life out of its trapped prisoner. After only a few moments, everything became still and quiet. The creature had vanished, consumed by the strange forest.
Myriam looked up, stunned by what she had witnessed. “What happened, where are the beasts?”
“You no longer need to worry about that grotesque creature,” was all Qutaybah would commit himself to, before urging them even deeper into the dark woods.
Everyone moved through the thick undergrowth in silence, unsure of what exactly they had witnessed. Qutaybah had said the forest was magical, and now they had seen the forest awaken for themselves. The forest certainly seemed to emanate a sense of power, causing them to feel as if they were being watched. Though, not in a sense of foreboding, more of a comfort, allowing them to feel safe, despite what they had just seen.
Eventually, Qutaybah ordered them to rest for a while and catch their breath. It seemed the other flying creature had finally given up its pursuit, perhaps fearful after having seen what had happened to its companion.
“What happened back there?” Myriam asked Qutaybah the question they all wanted to know the answer to.
“I have told you, this is an ancient forest. It protects our homeland. It allows nothing to pass that it does not want to.”
“You mean it lives?” Artas asked, astounded. “We all saw that, didn’t we? How can a forest be alive like that?”
“I know this forest well, it is a part of my land.” Qutaybah did not like to part with the secrets of the borderland forest, but these were his friends and they had just seen it in motion. “The ancient trees have protected our borders for thousands of years. The trees are our guardians.”
“Who are these guardians?” Myriam was puzzled at how Qutaybah was describing the forest, as if it was a living entity. Had she not seen for herself, she may have scoffed at such talk, but there was no doubting that they had all witnessed the trees saving them from that monster of a bird.
“In Vandemland, legend says that in times gone by, our great warriors were buried in the forest, so now their spirits live on in the trees. These are the Guardians, and they defend our nation as they did when they lived. They will not let any evil pass through here.”
“You believe this to be true, this legend?” Myriam asked, unsure of the explanation.
“I cannot know for certain. The trees have never been awakened in my lifetime, or in living memory. But you saw what I saw,” Qutaybah responded.
And they had. They had all seen something strange and powerful that could not be denied.
“We are almost through now,” Qutaybah spoke again, after a few minutes rest. “Only another hour at the most, and you should be safe in my homeland. I’m going to backtrack and see what the enemy are planning. I need to fully inform my King of what is on our borders.”
“I can’t leave my Queen’s side, given all the dangers,” Artas said, though he wanted to go with Qutaybah, he was the Queen’s Knight and must stay close by her side in times of peril.
“I understand, my friend. You have your duty and I have mine,” he said, laying a hand on Artas’s shoulder. “I will leave two of my men to guide you through the remaining forest. They will ensure you keep safe and do not get lost. Once I’ve scouted out the enemies position, I’ll return. All being well, we will meet up by nightfall.”
Artas returned to the Queen and the Duchess. This was where he must remain, by their side. Ganry, if he were here, may have gone with Qutaybah, but Artas was not confident enough that he could fight whatever was arriving on the edges of the forest. If he had to fight such monsters, let it be by the side of the woman he was sworn to protect.
***
Torno was fighting the interloper inside his mind, but it was a losing battle. With his magic, he had thought he could defeat the demon Barbatos, but he was sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness. He had no control over his physical body, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be cast adrift from it.
Barbatos was arguing with the demon that possessed the giant, Rochmyr, as demons were prone to do. They were known for their quarrelsome nature and inflated egos.
“I will lead the Asgwern, they are mine to control. The Mistress promised me!” Barbatos, dressed in black, confronted the huge man before him.
Rochmyr was also fighting his inner demon, Darango. He worked hard at trying to confuse it, but as with Torno, it was a battle he was losing. Despite this, he would take every opportunity to wrest some control, forcing his physical body to act against the will of the demon. It was a tiring task, but he was trying to gain some autonomy. As his control weakened, it became ever harder to achieve anything or gain any control at all. He felt himself fading away.
Rochmyr had an awareness that his physical body stood before his good friend, Torno the wolf man. He was also aware that Torno had his own demon to contend with, and that filled him with despair. If someone who was gifted with magic could not win this inner battle, then how could he ever rid his mind of this demon? He knew that the monster in his head was arguing with the other entity that possessed Torno. They seemed to be fighting over leadership. Let them fight, he thought, content for them to kill each other, if that would rid him of the horror that was living inside of him.
22
“It’s getting harder to move around out there. Soldiers are constantly patrolling the streets, but we can’t stay at my uncle’s, he risks too much already,” Ganry said as they sat around a table discussing their options. “There’s an inn, where we can follow a hidden underground passage leading out of the city. It’s not a pleasant route, or an easy one for that matter, and I worry for Cronos,” he added.
“We could change into our lupine form and take it in turns to carry the boy on a makeshift stretcher.” Grecia offered the best solution.
“Yes, we’ll make a stretcher that can be pulled by the wolves, or carried by two people if necessary,” Ganry agreed. “That’s it then, we go tonight.”
Berne, the head servant, helped them to prepare the boy for travel, and packed a few supplies for Ganry and his party to take with them. Getting to the inn would be the most difficult part, as crossing the city at night was dangerous with the curfew in place. Berne would be going with them to speak to the innkeeper, who may not open his doors to strangers at night.
Ludas, Ganry’s uncle, returned from a meeting while they were preparing to leave. “You must be careful,” Ludas warned. “The city is in uproar. Rumors abound about strange creatures controlling the palace. There have also been sightings of monstrous birds in the sky, with riders on their backs.
“Monsters?” Ganry queried his uncle.
“A trader I know is friendly with some of the staff at the palace,” Ludas explained. “He spoke of demons and devils within the corridors. Every Mirnean in the palace was rounded up by the royal guard and evicted yesterday morning. Later, the marketplace was set in turmoil when a huge flying beast was spotted. Something evil is among us, and I fear for every Mirnean.”
“What new mischief is this?” Grecia interjected. “It seems we’re dealing with a far greater evil than I thought. The magic I felt on the boy certainly points to an ancient evil, one that would have the power to do such things that you talk about.”
“Such things?” Ganry prompted.
“A portal,” the shaman said, “between this world and the underworld. It would explain the sightings, but no such thing has happened for thousands of years.”
“Portal or not, we have made the decision to move and it’s not a moment too soon,” Ganry declared. “We need to get Cronos out of the city. The ‘things’ are moving too fast here. The sooner we are away, the safer it will be for him.”
Berne went to the gate that led out onto the street to check all was clear. He came back a few moments later.
“There is no one around, but you must move quickly. Patrols are common here.”
Ganry turned and embraced his uncle, Ludas, bidding him farewell.
“Take care,” he said, simply.
“Do not worry about me, Ganry,” Ludas assured him. “I have seen many difficult times. We will be fine. Concentrate on getting the Emperor’s son to safety.”
With farewells finished, it was time to move. Cronos was wrapped in a thick plain blanket, and strapped to the quickly fashioned travois which Kregon, the largest of the wolves would pull. Berne unlocked the gates and they left quickly. Ludas watched them disappear into the shadows, and mumbled a quiet prayer for their safety.
The streets were deserted as they made their way towards the inn, with Berne leading. In the distance they spotted an orange glow in the sky. Something was burning, and it lay on their route. As they drew closer they could hear the sounds of a fight; swords clashing along with battle cries. Whatever was happening, they were too close to it, and they would need to pass it to get to the inn.
Ganry held up his hand, gesturing for them to stop.
“Take the boy into the alley over there and stay out of sight,” he instructed Kregon.
Turning to Lazras, the other wolf man, he said, “Stay with them. Help protect the boy.”
He ordered the others to move forward with him. Grecia stayed in her wolf form, sniffing the air as she moved forward. Ganry, Linz and his men drew their weapons and made their way towards the sound of battle.
They were almost there when suddenly a hideous screech filled the air, and looking up towards the direction of the sound they saw a huge flying creature. Its wings were outstretched as it glided across the night sky. They could just make out a rider on its back.
“What in the maker’s name is that thing?” Linz gasped.
No one answered him. No one had ever seen such a beast before.
The flying creature continued to move across the sky. It seemed that it was on patrol, searching the for any signs of trouble. Thankfully, it had not spotted them. It was more interested in the commotion that was happening just ahead.
“Quickly,” Ganry said, and they picked up speed, running toward the sounds of battle.
As they turned into the adjacent alley, they were stopped in their tracks. Before them a small battle raged, Mirneans fighting bravely for their very lives. It seemed that not all were willing to cower behind closed doors while such evil ruled. But it was their opponents that stunned Ganry’s group. They were not soldiers or royal guards; these were beasts that looked like they had crawled out from the very gates of hell. Taller than even the largest of Mirneans, they towered above their opponents, clearly stronger and faster. It was also obvious that they were slowly winning the battle. A few of the creatures lay dead on the street, but that figure was easily outdone by the dead Mirneans.
None in the group questioned whether they should help or not. They charged without hesitation towards the battle. Grecia was first into the attack, running forward at full speed, she flew at one of the demons, her jaws wide open, teeth bared as her paws planted on its chest. Her momentum forced the beast over onto its back, where she quickly ripped out its throat. A strange colored liquid poured from the wound.
“Well, at least we know they can be killed,” Ganry exclaimed before he too joined in the fight. He was immediately confronted by two of the creatures. Up close, they looked even more hideous. They were strong and fast, and Ganry needed to be alert to fight them off. Feigning one way and then another, he struck at the side of one of them. His trusted sword, meeting resistance at first from the thick skin of the creature, but with a little more pressure, the blade slid into the body. The demon roared in anguish as Ganry’s sword found a vital organ. A stinking yellow-green thick liquid gushed out from the wound, and the creature fell face forward.
Ganry had no time to relax. Another opponent was upon him, weapons flailing to his front as it advanced. Almost too late, Ganry dodged the sharp, strange looking blade, which cut through his tunic and sliced the skin on his arm. The pain was excruciating, almost causing him to drop his sword, but he quickly recovered and parried the next blow. The creature before him paused and smelled the air. As it caught the scent of Ganry’s blood, a grotesque smile stretched along the lipless mouth, exposing vicious long canines. The creature sensed victory and lunged at Ganry with a triumphant battle cry.
Ganry watched as it leapt at him. As often happened for him, everything seemed to move slowly as his combat trained reflexes kicked in. The beast’s overconfidence was its own undoing. It raised a weapon above its head, to deliver what it expected would be the killing blow. But its smile soon turned to a grimace, as Ganry, quick as a flash, leaned backwards. The creature’s sword passed his chest only by a fraction. Upon raising his body back up again, his own trusted sword, Windstorm, sliced through the belly of the beast, spilling out its entrails onto the ground. Slowly, it collapsed to its knees on the ground, gasping its last breath.
Ganry turned to the rest of the battle, but it was almost finished. The creatures had been taken by surprise and many had been slain. Those that survived fled for their very lives, with the Mirneans giving chase.
“Ganry de Rosenthorn,” a voice rang out. “Now there’s a face I thought I would never see again.”
He scanned the group of fighters looking for the speaker, and then a single figure stepped forward.
“Surely you recognize me. I helped rescue the Emperor from the dungeons,” she said smiling. “Where is Artas? Is he not with you?”
“Well, I’ll be damned. It’s Daphne, the baker’s daughter. Still causing mischief I see, and still with a soft spot for our young Artas.”
Grecia nudged at Ganry’s leg, letting him know they should move on quickly as the streets were unsafe.
“We must go, Daphne,” he said. “We must leave the city.”
“Of course,” Daphne responded. “Go ahead. I am staying here with the resistance. We are growing, and making headway in reclaiming our city.” She moved off with the others in her group, leaving Ganry and Grecia alone.
Grecia pulled back her head and gave a single low howl into the night. A few seconds later a response was heard, and soon Kregon and Lazras appeared in human form, holding the stretcher, between them.
The human fighters had already drifted into the shadows. Ganry’s party set off again, towards the inn, passing no more incidents that would delay them. Berne knocked on the great wooden inn door, in code. After a few moments, the door opened slightly with a damp creak, and Berne conversed with an unseen person. Once they had finished exchanging words, the door opened fully, allowing all to enter.
The innkeeper remembered Ganry and his past exploits of rescuing the Emperor from the witches, but the other people with him made him nervous. He relaxed a little when Berne explained everything in detail. Though despite Berne’s reassurances, he was still wary, for he had heard talk of strange beasts roaming the city, and monsters in the sky. And now here, there where strangers in his inn. He carefully lit a lamp and handed it over to Berne, while keeping one eye on the newcomers.
The old servant accepted the lamp and said a few comforting words to the innkeeper, before he led them to the back of the cellar where the trapdoor would take them to the underground caves. Ganry’s party descended into the darkness, and Berne wished them a safe passage before lowering the lid, shutting them in the dark cavern.
23
Thalia could sense that she was on the cusp of great power, a feeling she had not felt for hundreds of years. She had ruled the underworld for a long time, but this was different. In the underworld there were limits to her dominion, whereas here, those limits were few, and she would rule the whole world in time, of that she was certain. Humans were weak, some would follow her without even needing to be mind-controlled. They were either greedy for her rewards or fearful of her power, or simply easy to coax. Others, she would bend them to her will. And for those that defied her, her demons would soon crush them until they submitted, or perished.
She had once been human, many years ago. Born between a man and a woman copulating, but not a child made from love. Her mother had been raped, and showed no affection to the bastard child she had born.
At three, she had been left to die in a forest. Unloved and unwanted, a child who did not belong with anyone, anywhere. By pure chance she had been found by a witch who was out collecting herbs and roots. She kept her and raised her, teaching her the arts of magic, which Thalia excelled in. What her foster mother did not know, was that her father was not of this world. Though Thalia herself did not know these things either, until she was banished.
For many years she personally served the witch, fetching and carrying, cleaning her home and cooking for her. In return, the witch taught her everything she knew, but by an early age it was clear that Thalia was far more powerful than the simple witch could ever be. Soon, it would be the old woman who would serve Thalia.
As her power grew, so did her cruelty. By the time Thalia was sixteen, the witch who had raised her had lost her usefulness, and Thalia killed her. Free of her guardian, and outgrown of her environment, she set off on a journey of discovery. She searched the kingdoms of the world to try and quench her thirst for power, which had become all consuming. She learned much of the dark magic that offered her everything she craved. Her power was so strong that no witch could stand against her. With this power came followers, and soon her coven spread across the Kingdom of Mirnee.
Thalia had grown into a beautiful young woman, tall and slender by build, strong and confident by nature, but cold and hard was her heart. Her thick black glossy hair reached almost to the ground, and would shimmer silver and blue when caught in the moonlight. These looks enchanted many a man, and she used that power to her advantage.
By the time she was in her third decade of life, she had fought her way into positions of power. With the ear of the Emperor at the time, and the politicians, she wielded much influence. For Thalia though, this was not enough. She wanted more, and it was in that search for power that she commanded her followers to rise with her, as she tried to grasp complete control of Mirnee.
Her timing could not have been worse, for an albino Emperor sat upon the throne. In the end he was her undoing. Whether it was ignorance, or over-confidence, she was unaware that there was a magic more powerful than hers. When they battled, he was victorious, and banished the defeated Thalia’s spirit. Her human corpse rotted, as any other.
However, her spirit could not go to the peace and tranquility of the spirit world, for she was not fully human. Instead, it went to the underworld, where she was trapped. Spending the next five hundred years hating the royal lineage of Mirnee, she vowed her revenge.
The underworld offered her new opportunities to exercise power, and she had new magics to learn, but it all became limiting. She hated being imprisoned within her chambers, and her will was forever bent towards freedom. Her affinity with the beasts that lived here surprised her because she felt at home, as if she belonged. They felt the same way of her presence, an anomaly she could not understand. That was until one day she was visited by a powerful beast, who stunned her with the information that he was her father. He had possessed the soldier that had raped her mother, and she was the result of a union between beast and human.
When her father had visited, Thalia was in awe, for the power he emanated was incredible. In time she realized this could work to her advantage, using his power and influence to work freely, and be left alone. He agreed to help her work towards finding a way back to world of humans. Once she ruled, he may allow her other worlds to defeat. Once she proved her worth, they could rule the underworld and beyond, as father and daughter.
In time she discovered a way to contact her followers in the human world, and she commanded them to search for a way for her return. It took many years, but eventually a parchment was found that foretold that only the blood of the albino could restore her. By now, the albino emperor was long dead. So she waited patiently for the next one to return, biding her time and all the while becoming stronger and angrier. She also grew suspicious of her father and his motives. She thought that he would rule, and she would be cast aside as a second in command. In the end that obsession became all-consuming and she rarely communicated with him. He seemed not to even notice, and she was left to her own devices.
Finally, a new albino heir was born. After centuries of waiting, her time had come. Immediately she began to make her plans fruitful. Her human followers infiltrated the palace at the highest levels. It had all been going too well, and just as quickly it all went wrong.
The albino prince was taken out of Mirnee and hidden from her. After eight human years, they finally located him. Yet, even then she was thwarted. Her coven of witches did not prove to be strong enough against the albino and his allies.
Further information reached her that he would be visiting the spirit world on his tenth birthday eve. All she had to do was replace his spirit guide. Now, she was set free upon the human world, and these humans would pay penance for what they had done to her. Here, begins the reign of Queen Thalia, and darkness will descend upon this world forever.
24
Darkness fell, and still Qutaybah had not returned. His men had led the Palaran Queen through the forest to safety, and they camped for the night in a small cave on a rocky crag.
For the first time in days, Artas relaxed a little, but did not completely lower his guard. He could not do that until Myriam was safely back in Castle Villeroy, but at least they were out of Mirnee and in a friendly kingdom.
“I hope Ganry, Hendon and Linz are safe,” Queen Myriam said, as they sat around a small fire that had been lit. “Things have turned so quickly in Mirnee. We should have guessed the problem with the witches wasn’t over. Those strange creatures are most certainly not of this world, and make for powerful enemies.”
“Ganry will see that they are all well, my Lady,” Artas attempted to comfort her. “I feel nothing could better him, not even those ugly flying beasts.”
Myriam nodded agreement and smiled, hopefully. She too had come to believe that her faithful bodyguard was indestructible, but he was only mortal in the end. The threat they faced with the witches was even greater than it had been of a few years ago. Ganry was indispensable to her, and ruling Palara without him would be ever more difficult. She needed him in her life.
“You should sleep, my Lady,” Artas suggested. “We still have many miles of travel ahead of us before we’re home.”
“You too, Artas,” she reminded him. “I know you are loathe to let your guard down while we are in danger, but Qutaybah’s men guard us well. I think you can afford to rest for a while.”
Artas reluctantly agreed, he would be no use to his Queen if he was too weary to protect her. They wrapped themselves in thick horse blankets, and lay close to the fire for the welcoming heat. Soon, they all slept soundly. A passing guard could hear the sound of their regular breathing, so let them be.
They were finally awoken from their slumber by a low rumbling sound, the ground vibrating slightly. Artas quickly jumped up, and with weapon in hand he exited the cave. What he saw completely stopped him in his tracks. The whole forest appeared to be moving, closing in on itself as the trees moved closer together, until they were almost touching, creating a solid barrier.
“What’s happening?” Artas asked the nearest guard.
“The forest has awakened. It has been said in times of great strife and danger to Vandemland, the forest would always protect us, but never has anyone seen this happen.” The guard shook his head in awe at what was happening.
“But what of Qutaybah and the others, how will they get through? Won’t they be crushed?” Artas worried for them.
“Only those who are evil, and intent on bringing harm to Vandemland, will need to fear the Chervin Forest. Everyone else will be able to pass through safely.”
“I have a friend, Hendon, he would love to see this forest,” Artas smiled, remembering the forest dweller. “In better times, of course,” he added.
“In better times, your friend would be most welcome,” Jacob, the guard, patted Artas fondly on his back. “You should go rest, we will set off early in the morning.”
Artas nodded and returned to the cave. He explained the noise to Myriam and the Duchess, but they simply went back to sleep, accepting that the forest truly was magical. Throwing more kindle onto the small fire, he climbed into his bedroll. The advice to rest was good, but sleep came reluctantly, and when it did it was restless.
***
From their position just inside the forest, hidden by trees, Qutaybah had a good view of the strange creatures that were camped along its edge. These beasts were like nothing he had ever seen before, grotesque and primal. Many of them grunted to communicate, but there were humans among them. These seemed to be the leaders, the ones giving the orders. His attention was drawn to two figures, one a giant of a man at least the height of two men, the other also large but not as tall as the giant, and dressed in black. They appeared to be arguing. Standing close by was a small group of witches. All of the creatures were heavily armed, many carrying large scimitar type swords and some wielding battle axes.
When Qutaybah had first arrived, they were setting up camp, building shelters close to the forest, but as they did this, the ground rumbled and the trees seemed to move closer together. This had caused a panic in the beasts’ ranks, and they moved further away from the darkness of the forest.
Qutaybah knew it was the trees awakening, but still he could hardly believe it. Like every Vandemlander, he had heard stories of the Chervin Forest, of how it was a living entity that would protect the borders if ever Vandemland was in danger. Like most, he believed they were just stories made up, and meant to be told to children to keep them well behaved otherwise the Chervin Forest would eat them up. Yet, right before his eyes it was really happening. The trees were moving, and he did not doubt that if any of those creatures were foolish enough to enter the forest, that would be the last anyone would see of them.
“Sire, I think we must leave now,” one of his men suggested.
Qutaybah nodded his agreement. “Let the forest deal with them for now,” he said. “Let’s make our way home and report this to the King.”
Qutaybah took one last long look at the camp, and the creatures inside. He was loathe to leave them without someone watching, but they needed to make haste, to catch up with the Palaran Queen.
As they moved through the forest making their way back, Qutaybah could have sworn the trees moved apart so they could find speed on their way. Once, he managed to look back and sure enough, they seemed to move closely in again. He felt less uneasy about leaving the monsters now. For certain, the forest would let no one pass that it did not want to enter Vandemland.
25
After much debatable discussions between them, it was decided that the shorter hidden route through the underground lake would not be viable to them, with Cronos’s condition. They considered fastening him to the back of the fastest swimmer, but decided against that when Ganry described the route in detail, and how long they would be submerged.
Cronos still had not fully recovered, slipping in and out of consciousness most of the time. When he did awaken, he barely recognized anyone. Grecia tended to him constantly, and although she had stopped the wound from bleeding, she was still unable to completely revive him. That concerned Ganry greatly, but there was nothing they could do for now other than get him safely out of the city. Hopefully, Grecia, Hendon and Azmariddian together, could remove whatever malaise was affecting him.
Once they had decided against the hidden route, they needed to find an alternative way to take. In the end they compromised speed for safety, and decided on the coastal path. They would take the river to the outskirts of the city, and from there they could follow the cliffs to the druid’s hideout.
Resting during daylight hours, they had agreed it would be safer to make their move during the night. When the time came they loaded the boat, fastening Cronos to the travois. Ganry and Linz took the oars and the set off down the underground current of the river.
The enchanted stones that Azmariddian had given Ganry were still working. They used the faint light to guide them in the pitch blackness of the subterranean tunnel. The journey went without incident, and soon they were out in the open air. A full moon stood high above them, as did the silver twinkling of stars in a clear sky. It helped that the moon cast its silvery glow over everything, alighting the way. As they continued down the river, there was no stopping until they were safely away from the city walls. Eventually, they moored up in a small sheltered cove.
Setting off on foot, they made their way through the lightly wooded area. Cronos was once again strapped to Kregon, who remained in wolf form. The going was slow, because of the uneven ground and tricky maneuvering through the lines of trees, especially for Kregon who pulled Cronos behind him. As the woods became denser, progress slowed even further. This left no alternative but to take to the road so they could make better time. The sooner the boy was in the care of the druid, the better. They were far enough away from the city to take the bold risk of going on the road.
Ganry doubted there would be patrols out at this time of night, and he was soon proved right. Quickly, they made progress, without encountering anyone. Ganry checked the rough map that Azmariddian had made for him. It showed him the different routes, in case he could not manage to return through the underwater passage.
Whilst discussing the best way forward with Grecia, a dark shadow cast by the moonlight passed over their heads. Instantly looking up, Ganry saw two huge flying creatures, the same as the ones he had seen in the city.
“It’s those flying monsters again,” he exclaimed. “More spawn of the devil, no doubt.”
“Whatever is happening in the city is most certainly the work of the devil. We must take cover before they see us,” Grecia urged.
Too late. A shrilling shriek from above their heads alerted them that they had been spotted. Ganry watched one of the creatures change its course. He could make out a huge silhouette flying back towards the city. The other swooped down low, banking around full circle, before landing in the road ahead of them.
“Damn!” Ganry cursed. “The other must be going back for reinforcements. We cannot tarry here, let’s get back into the woods. Take the map and the boy,” he said, handing the parchment over to Grecia. “Linz and I will try and hold this one back, while you make for the caves.”
“We should stick together,” she replied, feeling a dread at the thought of Ganry and Linz facing that beast.
“No,” he insisted. “We can buy you time. It’s important for the Emperor’s son to survive. You must go, and go now.”
Grecia realized that arguing with him would be pointless. His decision had been made.
“I will leave Lazras with you,” she said, before turning to Kregon and instructing him to follow her back into the woods. “We must go now. There is nothing more we can do to help them without risking the boy’s life.”
Kregon reluctantly followed Grecia. He would have preferred to stay and fight, but they all knew the boy’s safety was paramount.
Ganry waited until they were into the woods and out of sight, before advancing on the beast that was now blocking the road. It remained still as a stone statue, just sat there, seemingly content to wait for them, or for its reinforcements.
“You ready?” he questioned Linz and the others, whilst drawing his own sword.
They nodded their agreement and slowly moved towards the darkened shape. Lazras changed into his wolf form and followed them. As they drew closer, the size of the creature became clearer. It was much larger than they had realized as it had its wings tucked in. For the first, time they could see that another beast sat high up on its back.
“Look, one of those creatures we fought back in the city,” Linz announced to Ganry. “Where are all these monsters coming from?”
“I know not,” Ganry replied, nodding his head in astonishment. “Neither do I care. If that creature is from hell, then let’s send it back.”
They were almost on the beast, and it was keeping a watchful eye on them. Linz and his men moved left, looking to flank of the creature, while Ganry and Lazras moved to face it head on.
Suddenly it reared and spread out its huge wing span, squawking angrily. It lashed out with one of its talons at Linz’s men as they tried to flank it. They only just avoided the long sharp claws. The attack had taken them by surprise. The birdlike creature had so far not shown any signs of aggression, but its intent was now clear: it meant to kill them.
The beast had made the first move and the watching game was over. Linz’s men attacked from the rear, stabbing at the creature with swords and daggers at every opportunity. It was hard to avoid the sharp talons and beak as they slashed at the bird’s body. Whilst some strikes were true, the creature seemed oblivious to their attacks, instead they just urged it on with a greater ferocity as its beak and talons attempted to make their mark.
Rubos, one of Linz’s men, saw a gap between the attacks and made a bold move. Rolling under the creature, he stabbed his sword in an upwards stroke and deep into its body. His strike was good and the beast howled out its agony as the blade penetrated into its flesh. But as he tried to roll back out from under the creature, it was too quick for him. One of its talons grasped ahold of his body, and the sharp claws pierced his skin, fatally wounding him. The beast then completed the coup de grâce, lowering its head, and with its beak, it ripped Rubos in two. The action of flicking its head back sent the upper torso of Rubos through the air, landing at Linz’s feet.
“Nooo…” Linz cried out in anguish. Rubos was a fierce soldier and a loyal friend. Overcome with grief and anger, and with no regard for his own safety, he rushed the creature slashing frantically at the beast. Linz scored a few good strikes, and the creature’s stalk like legs were covered in many cuts, its blood flowed freely, staining the ground and pooling where it stood. Though none of these were fatal or even debilitating. The creature still fought ferociously, slashing out with its claws, trying to spear its pointed beak into Linz’s body. With its wings outstretched, it performed a macabre dance, hopping from leg to leg as it avoided the stinging blades.
Linz, while avoiding the creature’s attacks, was so intent on causing damage, that he lost his footing, stumbling over the lower part of his friend’s body. He fell to the ground on his backside. The creature reacted quickly, seeing its chance to rid itself of this troublesome imp. It lifted its claws to strike the fatal blow, but just before it landed, Lazras the wolf flew in under the beast’s body, his mouth clamping around the bony leg. The wolf’s powerful jaws ground together, canines serrating flesh and bone until they cut clean through. The creature howled in agony as its leg was severed. Blood gushed from the stump as it slumped down onto its underside. It could not remain upright on just one leg. The rider on its back desperately attempted to get it to fly, but it was in so much pain it did not heed the command.
Ganry saw his chance. Moving quickly, he leapt upon the wounded creature and scrambled up its scaly body towards the rider, who had his back to him. As he approached, he drew his dagger and reaching around, he pulled back the rider’s head, cutting his throat. Pushing him aside, the rider fell to the ground. In the same fluid movement, Ganry raised his sword, held it in both hands, high above his head. With all his remaining strength he stabbed it down hard, the sharply honed point cut into the scaly skin and sank deep into its back. The blade had ruptured its heart. The giant bird shuddered with its final breath, before it collapsed to the ground, Linz and Lazras jumping out of the way at the very last moment.
Ganry slid off the back of the dead creature and approached a distraught Linz.
“I feel your pain, my friend, but we must move swiftly.” Ganry laid his hand on Linz’s shoulder as he spoke. “He was a brave man and doesn’t deserve the ignominy of being left out here, but others will arrive soon. We must go now. I promise, long will we and others remember his feats and valor in battle. We will mourn him.”
Linz nodded his agreement. He knew that Ganry spoke wisely, as much as he hated leaving Rubos like this. He understood that they had no choice. Linz took one last look at his fallen comrade, before following after Ganry and the others. They made their way into the relative safety of the woods.
26
“Dead? How can this be?” Mistress Thalia shouted at the witch who stood before her. “Did I not instruct you to keep him alive with magic? Couldn’t I even trust you to do that?”
“Mistress, for a human, the Emperor was an old man. His heart could not withstand the magic, or maybe he just simply gave up,” the witch pleaded.
“I should have done it myself rather than trust a mere mortal!” Thalia fumed.
The death of the emperor was not a disaster. In reality she did not need him anyway, but he may have been useful as a puppet, a figurehead of which she could control. No matter, it will all be the same result in the end. The humans will fall into line, or they will be killed. She was only angry because it was the Emperor’s ancestors that had banished her in the first place. There had been a glimmer of hope that she could make him suffer a while longer, even prolong his suffering, as she had suffered for hundreds of years. He had been the last of the lineage, with the young albino being dead. There were no other Fontleroy’s to take her wrath out on.
“Do you wish to see his body?” The witch dared to break into her mistress’s thoughts.
“Why would I want to do that? Can’t I trust you to dispose of an old man? Feed what is left of him to Canne, my personal Asgwern. That might appease me.”
There would be no ceremony for the death of the human Emperor, no period of mourning, not even an official announcement. The Emperor was dead. Long live Queen Thalia.
***
Canne poked his nose around in the meat and bones that had been thrown into his pen. Having been chosen by the Mistress because he was the largest and strongest of his kind, he had the privilege of not having to fight or hunt for his meals with the other Asgwerns. His Mistress had ensured he was tended to and cared for, as was his status.
The meat smelled fresh; this must have been a recent kill. Aah, human flesh, this had been a new taste to most of the creatures of the underworld. He did not care for it, the meat was usually sinewy and tough, as was this one, but he needed to eat. Crunching the bones between his sharp beak, his claws tore the flesh from the bone and he ate the remains of the Emperor of Mirnee. The meal was a light one, but it would hold his hunger for now. Settling down to nap, he wrapped his wings around himself and closed his eyes.
As he slept, he dreamt a voice was calling him, not his mistress but someone else. The voice was commanding and authoritative. It spoke to him as if it knew him personally, calling him by his name. Canne could not resist the call, and he flew at full speed towards the voice. Even though the calling was only in his head, he knew where it originated.
As he flew, an image appeared in his mind of a small human boy. A strange boy, all pale and white. A weak looking human child. Yet this boy was not weak, he could sense this, feel the power that emanated from him. This boy was strong in magic, stronger even than his mistress. That thought brought him awake and he realized it was just a dream.
Yet, something had unsettled him and he could still hear the calling inside his head, compelling him to go to its source. Ever loyal to Mistress Thalia, always obeying her commands, he now felt compelled to find this new master. The voice was calling him, a call he could not resist.
Not a moment could he waste as he unfurled his wings and began to rise out of his pen and up into the clear night sky. He pushed every muscle in his body to move faster and faster. He must find his Master.
***
Cronos dreamed he was in the spirit world once again. He was wary and mistrusted his judgment, as this was where everything had started to go wrong. A vision of his father stood before him, looking different. Younger? Yes, he was younger and more vibrant.
“I can no longer be with you in the living world, my son,” he smiled as he lay an arm gently on Cronos’s shoulder. “I have passed to the spirit world, but I will guide you when I can.”
“Father, what will I do without you by my side?” Cronos cried. “I’m confused, unsure, whether I am awake or asleep. I have seen monsters in my dreams, but I fear they’re in the real world. I felt that something was in my mind, ruling me, and I had no power to stop it.”
The Emperor’s spirit smiled at his young son. He had hoped to be with him for longer, or at least until he had grown into a young man. He was too young to be taking on the troubles that the kingdom was now facing, but there was no other option. Cronos was the only one that could save Mirnee and indeed, the world.
“You have good men by your side, so do not fear anything in the living world,” his father encouraged him. “Here is your spirit guide, Malasias,” he said indicating an albino who stood behind him. “You should have met on the eve of your tenth birthday. He is the albino who banished the witch, Thalia, many years ago. He will also guide you when he can. The monster within your mind has gone, and will never return. But you are ill, and although there are those trying to heal you, in the end only you can do that. Heal yourself and quickly, for you are needed in the living world. Our kingdom depends on you.”
“I will be with you,” Malasias told him, and gently kissed his forehead.
The images of his father and Malasias faded and he was surrounded in darkness. He felt a great sadness inside, knowing that his father was dead, but he understood what he had to do. First he must heal himself, and then he must awaken. His kingdom did need him.
He slept again and another vision came to him, but not his father or his spirit guide. Instead the vision was of a great flying beast, a fearsome creature, and an ally. It was flying towards him at great speed, willing to serve him in the coming fight. It would be his steed, his flying warhorse that he would ride into battle.
27
“I’d feel better waiting for Qutaybah,” the Duchess expressed to Artas, as they were preparing to leave. The Duchess and Qutaybah were lifelong friends, and she did not wish to leave without him.
“I would too,” Artas agreed, “but his men say he left instructions to get Myriam to safety as quickly as they could. I would feel safer being closer to Palara. Besides, Qutaybah can look out for himself, my Lady. There is nothing we could do to help anyway, we are too few.”
The Duchess reluctantly nodded her agreement. She knew it was important to save her granddaughter, the Queen of Palara, but she was very fond of Qutaybah. It hurt her heart to leave without him.
“I know you’re right, Artas, but without him we probably wouldn’t have made it safely into Vandemland.”
“I understand how you feel grandmother,” Myriam intervened. “I did not wish to leave Ganry in Mirnee to face those dreadful creatures, but I knew that I must put Palara’s interests first.”
The Duchess knew she was beaten, and deep down she knew they were both right. It still hurt to leave without knowing if he was alive or not.
They packed up what little supplies remained, and saddled up their horses ready to ride. One of Qutaybah’s men assisted the Duchess onto her horse. Everyone else was already saddled up, and she was the last one to mount. As they were readying to set off, hoof beats could be heard in the forest, and the rustling of trees. It sounded as though someone was riding through at great speed.
Artas and the other soldiers drew their swords and prepared to confront the unseen intruders.
Bursting through the forest and into the clearing, were three riders galloping swiftly. The Duchess was delighted to see that leading the trio was the dark skinned merchant, Qutaybah.
“You look like you’ve been dragged through the hedges backwards,” the Duchess remarked as Qutaybah approached them. He smiled wide in response. He knew that her flippant words were only a disguise to hide her relief at seeing him.
“I’m glad to see you too, Duchess,” Qutaybah bowed his head to the Duchess and Queen. “To know you are all safe in my homeland is a relief. Artas…” he turned to the Queen’s Knight to speak with him. “We should ride now and ride hard. I need to urgently speak to my King, and your party needs to head to your borders. We have a deadly foe opposing us, and with the permission of my King, and you Milady, we should join forces to defeat it. If we unite, we might just stand a chance of killing these beasts that have crawled out from the underworld itself.”
Artas nodded his agreement and they clasped arms as friends. Qutaybah ordered a handful of his men to accompany the Queen’s party, led by his trustworthy lieutenant, Jacob. He did not yet expect troubles here in Vandemland. These men knew this area well and would find the quickest route to Palara. It was imperative that Queen Myriam returned home to assemble her forces, rallying them to fight the evil foe that threatened everyone.
The ride to the borders in Vandemland, as Qutaybah had predicted, was uneventful. The Queen’s party made good time and soon the border posts between the kingdoms could be seen just ahead.
“Ride hard, and ride true, my friend,” Jacob said to the Palaran Knight. “Gather your troops and meet us back here. We have little time to waste. I doubt the enemy tarries and are probably marshaling their forces as we speak.”
“I need you to pass on a message, Jacob, to Qutaybah,” Myriam said as she approached the leader of their escort. “Tell him I will also be sending troops over the sea, to the royal city harbor in Mirnee. Attacking from two fronts will improve our chances of success. Ganry still remains in the city. Knowing him, he will have organized a resistance. With the aid of the naval forces, we can provide him with soldiers and arms to add to his attack.”
Jacob bowed his head. “The plan is a sound one, your Majesty, and one I am certain our King will approve of. The more forces we can garner to fight against these demons, the better our chances of success.”
The two parties bid their final farewells and went their separate ways. The Queen and her party riding towards the border controls, and Jacob and his men riding like the wind towards the Mirnee capital.
***
Qutaybah and his men had also made good time. Vandemland, a kingdom that relied on trade, had built many roads to crisscross the land and ensure travel was fast and direct. Soon, just ahead, they could see the spires rising above the horizon that told them they were almost home.
Qutaybah held up his hand, halting all the riders to a standstill.
“There she is at last, my comrades. We are home, and for now, safe.” With that he spurred his horse on and galloped towards the city. The others trailed in his wake. He would go directly to King Mydras to confirm all the reports that he should have been receiving. He could do nothing without the King’s consent, but he knew he would soon be briefing the commanders of Vandemland’s forces, and planning their attack strategy. Time was of the essence. He had seen those creatures with his own eyes, and knew that only a great force could defeat them.
28
Canne flew high in the sky where none below would see him well. He was not sure where he was heading or why, but a voice inside his head commanded it, and he had to obey. This same voice told him that he needed to protect his new master, and ignore anyone else. Asgwern do not command large brains, making them easily manipulated. Control their minds and you control them physically. This provides for a strong and fearsome creature.
In this case, Canne was being manipulated by spirits that were loyal to the albino, including the late Emperor Nester Fontleroy. Any thoughts about his mistress, Thalia, were soon swept from his mind. She was completely gone from his memories. Now, Cronos was his new master, and he would serve him faithfully.
He flew out to sea, for that was where the inner voice led him. This world was a strange one, it was not dark enough, and the air was not quite right. Whilst he could breathe perfectly well, it was missing certain odors. The strong smell of salt and sea birds assailed his senses. Not really hungry, he ignored the need to stop and eat the birds that dared to fly near him. In his own world, the places where he could fly were huge fire pits, or caverns that had the overpowering aroma of sulfur. His kind were captured and trained to be used to fly the demon knights into battle. Now though, his role was a different one: he was to protect the albino human child at all costs.
Then he saw his destination below him, through the hazy grey clouds and the wet droplets that fell from the skies to the land below. Downward he flew, circling around looking for somewhere to land. He saw a cavern opening, high up on a cliff wall. Landing on the edges of the opening, he entered the cave, jumping and hopping from talon to talon with wings flapping to keep his balance. Deep inside this dark cavern he was certain he would find what he was seeking.
***
“Cronos! You’re awake?” Grecia cried out with surprise.
“Have I missed much?” the boy asked, propping himself up on his elbows, looking bewildered as he glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings.
However, the people who were with him were all familiar. As he looked up he could see Ganry, cleaning weapons, and the druid Azmariddian speaking with Hendon, whom he had met at his birthday ceremony. That was it, the ceremony, it had all gone wrong. Slowly he recalled that he was in danger the last time he had awoken.
“Am I safe?” he dared to ask.
“Thanks to Azmariddian and Grecia, you are,” Ganry replied, looking pleased.
There were other men in the large cave chamber. Linz, who he also recognized as one of Myriam’s party, stood with a couple of wolf men.
“Are you all my personal guards?” he asked.
“Well, we’re all here to protect you,” Hendon replied, “but not just us.”
Everyone in the cave turned to Hendon, curious as to what he meant.
“You are speaking in riddles again, Hendon?” Ganry remarked, remembering times he had spent with the forest man in the past, and the invisible mentor that he had.
“Yes, I miss Barnaby,” Hendon replied, his mind wandering off to his trainer who had also always spoken in riddles. “I mean, no, I’m not speaking in riddles. What I have to show you all is no riddle, it’s perfectly solid.”
“And as to your question, young man,” Hendon smiled at Cronos, “we are your human protectors, but you also have another, much stronger than all of us put together.”
“Is it Rochmyr? Is he here?” Cronos was excited to be seeing his good friend, the giant, and his eyes scanned the cave looking for him.
“Sadly, no,” Hendon replied. “But, if Grecia could assist you to follow me, then I can show you exactly what I mean.”
Grecia wrapped a blanket around Cronos and helped him up, and by supporting him he managed to walk slowly.
Hendon headed towards the tunnel with Ganry at his side, and everyone followed behind. He carried a torch lighting up the way ahead.
As they moved through the tunnel towards the cave entrance, Ganry could see a large shape that was partially blocking out the light. Instantly, he drew his sword, when he recognized the creature standing before them
“Quickly, Grecia, we have been discovered. Take the boy back and protect him at all costs. Linz, stay with me,” he yelled, advancing on the creature.
Before Ganry could attack, Hendon held his hands up high, “No, Ganry, wait.” He walked towards the large beast that stood before them, unmoving.
“This is Canne, and he is a gift to Cronos from his father,” Hendon told them all. “In fact, it is the late Emperor who possesses this creature, and he has brought it here to help protect him.”
“My father’s spirit… you mean he is dead?” The boy cried out in anguish, his voice heavy with sadness.
“Hendon speaks the truth, Ganry,” Grecia confirmed. “I feel no malice from this beast. It is not our enemy. I too sense the spirit of the former Emperor, and he wants only to assist us in keeping his son safe.”
“Well, well well,” Azmariddian moved closer to the beast. “You in there, are you Nestor, old chap?”
“His spirit guides the beast,” Hendon replied. “It is not the Emperor as we know him. He cannot communicate with us, unless you mind read. I feel his presence in the creature’s mind, and he has full control.”
The Asgwern surveyed the crowd of humans before him. His urge to attack and kill them was suppressed by the powerful voice in his head. The same voice that had guided him here and set him on his new quest in life. Protect the boy at all costs. It would be a command he would now follow, even if it meant his own death.
“Well,” Ganry said as he turned to Hendon, “this is something new. We now have our very own beast to feed. Do you suppose it eats something other than humans?”
29
Cronos grew stronger by the day, and soon he was almost completely recovered from his illness, though the mental scars would take a little longer to heal. He wanted to spend as much time with the flying beast as possible, especially since his father’s spirit possessed it. He would often speak to it, as if it was his father in front of him, telling him of their plans to free the kingdom. Although Hendon had said his father’s spirit could not communicate with them, he was still mourning his loss, and it gave him some comfort to know he was close by.
Within a few days he had climbed on top of the beast’s back, and soon was controlling the creature completely, as it moved to his commands. This day he had ordered it to move out of the entrance and into the open air. Together they perched on the cliff’s edge. Two hundred feet below them, jagged rocks rose out of the sea, and waves crashed against the rocks causing a white turbulent foam. They stood motionless, the prince uncertain, and the beast awaiting his command. Eventually Cronos built up his courage and spurred the creature on. With one flap of its huge wings, they rose high into the sky.
Cronos gripped the creatures back fearfully, as it flew higher and higher. Up until they were hidden in the clouds and he could no longer see the ground, or the sea below them. Canne dived down steeply, shooting through the sky like an arrow, with Cronos clinging to his back. At first he was terrified, but as the wind blew in his face and his long hair flowed behind him, he realized that he was safe on the creature’s back. The flight became exhilarating. Canne leveled up at about ten feet off the sea, and they flew along skimming the waves, before they returned back to the cave.
The flights became a daily occurrence, and Cronos began to go further and further afield into Mirnee. He decided that this was an opportunity to try and find out exactly what the enemy was up to. Each day he would return and report his discoveries to the group.
“There are a group of demons camped around the borders of Palara. It seems they have placed magical barriers so no one can enter or leave this kingdom,” Cronos informed them, as they sat chattering around their evening meal.
Over the coming days they discussed strategies, and slowly a plan was coming together.
Ganry, it was decided, would move back into the city and make contact with any resistance that was building up. They were already aware that some citizens were not giving up without a fight. Only a few days ago they had encountered Daphne, and a small group of fighters who were battling the demons.
“I’ll go to my uncle’s, and determine what resistance there is in the city,” Ganry discussed his plans with them. “I feel certain that some of the palace guards will not be happy with the way things are going. Many were loyal to the Emperor, and I believe not all have been possessed, only those in the highest command. If we can get their support, it will strengthen our hand.”
Everyone murmured their agreement. Grecia was next to outline her plans.
“The Queen will send word to my people to rally forces to increase her numbers. I’ve also managed to take control of many of the wolves in Mirnee. They are not as strong in battle as my people, but they will make a good ally and will fight to free Mirnee from these demons.”
“Excellent,” Ganry replied to Grecia’s plans. “It’s disturbing news from Cronos, regarding the Palaran border. This magical barrier concerns me. If we can’t overcome it, then I don’t know how Myriam will be able to send troops to aid us. I doubt we can win this battle alone. You should go and investigate this barrier, Grecia, see if you can breech it. I feel certain that Artas will be at the ready on the other side, just waiting for such a chance. Be wary of the creatures that patrol there. Cronos and his flying beast can accompany you. I’ll feel better knowing he’s with someone who we can trust. Besides, he and his creature may yet prove to be useful in the days ahead.”
Grecia nodded her agreement.
“I’ll stay with Ganry and help in the city,” Linz offered. “If we can end the life of whoever it is that started this accursed invasion, then it should bring the end quicker,” he suggested.
“Azmariddian and I have been studying some old scrolls,” Hendon explained the conversation he had had with Azmariddian, the previous evening. “This particular coven of witches have a place of worship not far from here. We will continue to study the scrolls, though the language is archaic to say the very least, while we travel to this place of worship. It is our belief there may be something of value to us, there. The scrolls mention a book of Opposites. For every spell, there are two incantations. This book will inform us how to send these beasts back to whence they came. In about a week, we’ll make our way into the city to assist you, Ganry, once your plans are clearer.”
“You’re right, Hendon,” Ganry replied. “We’re so busy concentrating on what we do know, that we’re forgetting about what we don’t know. Take care, we none of us know how powerful some of these creatures can be.”
Everyone knew their part to play, and prepared themselves. They ate lightly that night, none wanting to travel or battle on a full stomach.
Grecia and her men, Lazras and Kregon, readied themselves. They did not need to carry anything in the way of stores, as they could hunt on the journey and eat as wolves did.
Ganry turned to Cronos and laid his hands on the young boy’s shoulders.
“Again, for someone so young, you have a heavy burden to bear, my friend,” Ganry embraced Cronos. “Stay close to Grecia. You can scout out the land ahead and makes sure all’s clear for them, but don’t get involved in any skirmishes.”
“Don’t worry about me, Ganry,” Cronos replied. “I have my father to guide me.”
Ganry said nothing to that. He had always been skeptical about magic, despite all he had seen with his own eyes. Even though Grecia and Hendon believed the beast to be safe, he did not trust the flying demon. He would prefer it had not joined them. But, Cronos seemed to have a level of control over it, and if it was to harm him, it had already had many opportunities to do so.
With all agreeing on how they would play their part, they readied themselves to move out of the hidden cave. Ganry and his party would go back to the city through the underground tunnel.
Cronos climbed on his Asgwern, clothed in a thick fur coat as the rains were still falling upon the kingdom. Most of the time the clouds were so thick and dark, they blocked out the sun completely. It was getting hard to tell night from day.
The three wolf people transformed into their wolf form, and began to run towards the road that would take them away from the royal city, and towards the Palaran border. Above them flew a huge beast. From where Cronos sat, high above the ground, he could see the Mirnean wild wolves joining Grecia’s pack as they ran through the night. Soon, the pack was hundreds strong as it ran on relentlessly toward the borders. It was a formidable force and Cronos felt a little pity for anyone who opposed them.
The Asgwern swooped down in the night sky, skimming the ground below as it searched for danger. That way, Cronos could lead the wolves safely, and if necessary warn them of any trouble on the road ahead.
Hendon and Azmariddian set off wrapped in large heavy cloaks and each carrying a staff. They had the appearance of simple travelers, but lo behold any who attacked them. They had increased their magical abilities of late, expecting to battle for their lives. Practice time was over, and now it was time to use that built-up power.
***
Ganry, Linz, and his men, took the route back into the city that involved using the underground lake. While they wrapped their clothes in oil skins to keep them dry, Ganry warned Linz of the difficult swim ahead. Linz laughed and reminded him he was one of the lake people. He and his men dived in first, leaving Ganry standing on the edge alone. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and dived in after them.
When they arrived in the city, there was already fighting in the streets. Some of the residents had been joined by mutinous soldiers and were battling with the creatures.
Ganry and his party immediately joined in the battle, swords flashing and axes swinging at the demons who fought ferociously. Their blows seemed to do little to impede the creatures, who came on regardless. The battle was not going well for the humans, and many of them lay dead on the street. The creatures had forced them back into a dead end. Ganry knew this area well and searched out who he thought was leading the mob. If he did not act quickly, they would be trapped in and slaughtered by the enemy.
Standing at the front, in the thick of the battle, was a large man. He wielded an axe expertly, and almost single-handedly forced some of the creatures to retreat. The other men seemed to rally round him, and when he gave orders they followed them immediately. Ganry noticed he had sergeant’s stripes on his arm. As he observed the sergeant, he noticed one of the creatures move around to the sergeant’s blind side, readying to land a deadly blow with its cudgel. Just in time, Ganry intervened, his sword flashing and finding its target, as it sliced through the thick skin of one of the creatures. A strange colored fluid that Ganry assumed was its blood, gushed out and pooled on the ground.
Ganry stood in front of the sergeant and forced him back.
“Get out of my way, fool, I must kill these beasts,” the sergeant yelled at him, his face covered in blood and his hands shaking with battle fever.
“Calm yourself, Sergeant, the battle is almost lost. You must retreat and live to fight another day. Mirnee demands it of you,” Ganry replied.
The sergeant calmed a little as he looked upon the man before him. He could see authority and order in this man’s eyes. Standing before him was a commanding officer of some army or other. At last, someone to sort out this mess.
“What do you propose, sir?” the sergeant inquired of Ganry.
“They’re forcing you back into a dead end. Before you get in too deep, there are passageways leading from this place. Use them to escape, and then take your men to the merchants’ quarters. Find the merchant, Ludas de Rosenthorn, and we will meet you there.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant saluted him before turning and gathering his men together. Quickly, he explained the plan of action.
They ran off into the dark while Ganry and his troop continued to fight with the demons. As soon as he was certain the soldiers were safely away, Ganry and his party dispersed into the surrounding streets.
30
Myriam arrived at the Palaran border to find her commanders already awaiting her instructions. Castle Villeroy was still a good day’s ride away, and the evening was drawing in. The Queen decided to spend the night at a nearby inn. She would begin the discussions this very night with her commanders, informing them that they needed to mobilize their armies.
Myriam was pleased to be back in home territory. Here, she felt safe and secure. but she knew peace would not be with her for long. She hoped to lead her armies out to face the terrible demons of Mirnee. Being a D’Anjue, she would lead the forces to war, being no different to her predecessors.
It was agreed that Artas would travel immediately to Port Brammanville, where the main naval forces were docked. He would have preferred to stay with his Queen, until she was safely in the castle, but Myriam had insisted. They needed to mobilize the navy as quickly as possible, and so he carried her orders for the admiral. Those orders were for the naval forces to set sail with the smaller warships, for speed. Garrisons of troops should be on them. Their destination, the royal city in Mirnee. The smaller warships could do the journey in just over a week, with the larger ones staying in port. Myriam wanted to send reinforcements for Ganry, so he could fight the battle from within the Mirnean Kingdom.
Admiral Roy Patterson was the new leader of the Palaran naval forces. His predecessor had gone completely mad when he had been possessed by witches, and had never really recovered. The poor man had a complete breakdown and was now being cared for by his family. Artas had dealt with Patterson before and knew him to be a decent man. A man of action, who got things done. He was confident that Patterson would quickly implement the orders, and Ganry would have reinforcements within a week.
The docks were always a busy place, bustling with the physical activity of offloading goods, and loading up other products for transportation elsewhere. It was also a place of rank odors, as fishing ships plied their trade here, and the strong smell of fish permeated everywhere. In the summer months, as it was now in Palara, the smell could be overpowering. The wind more often than not carried the scent of rotting fish up the streets, around the buildings and alleyways, and onto people’s clothing. Once anyone had visited the docks, they would need a fresh set of clothing and a good bath to rid themselves of the prevailing stink.
The fishermen were used to it and did not notice the stench. They sweated with hard labor, too exhausted at the end of their working day to care to much about how they smelled. This meant that the drinking houses near the docks usually stank of strong body odors and fish, because this was the first place they would frequent once work was finished for the day.
Artas needed to visit the docks to deliver the orders given him by Queen Myriam. He had been directed to the Sinking Duck to find Admiral Patterson. It was pay day for the sailors and this was where the men would go for their wages. He was to be found supervising the wages at the drinking house, so the assistant had told him.
Most drinking houses were rowdy, but there was a calm quiet in this one as the men lined up for their money. Wages were paid from a room upstairs, and quickly they returned downstairs to buy a drink at the bar, the first bar of many for most of them on pay day.
Artas pushed his way up the stairs, only to be stopped by a thick and muscular arm which reached across the stairway, blocking his way.
“We’re all in rush, young fella, take yer turn,” a red nosed rather stout looking man said to him, threateningly.
“I’m not here for wages,” Artas stood his ground. “I have orders from the Queen for Admiral Patterson.”
“Why’d yer not say in the first instance, lad?” the man said, moving his hands. “Are we all going somewhere?”
“You’ll have to speak to your Admiral to know the answer to that, sailor.” Artas was giving nothing away. Whilst he doubted that any here would be spies, after his last experience with the possessed admiral, he was taking no chances.
The men let him by, but a deep hum traveled through the queue as they all speculated why the Queen of Palara would send a message to their Admiral. It could only be bad news.
Artas found Patterson and passed him the orders, which he opened immediately. After he read them, he ordered the officer sitting at his side to continue handing out the mens’ pay. He and Artas went to a private booth in the bar.
Over a strong drink, Artas did his best to explain to the admiral the events happening across the border.
Patterson listened with growing disbelief, as Artas explained that demons roamed the Mirnean Kingdom, and that the commanders of the Royal Guards were possessed, and doing their bidding. Patterson knew all about possession, having been second-in-command to Admiral Bingham, his predecessor, who was also possessed by witches. His actions had nearly cost them their naval fleet.
“That is a story that chills the bones, Artas,” Admiral Patterson frowned. “How can we hope to defeat such creatures?” the Admiral queried, clearly shocked at the tale.
“I’m not sure yet, Admiral, but we are marshaling our forces on land and sea, and they will join with the troops of Vandemland. That will be a powerful force that not many human armies could withstand, but of course these are not human. Still, as we speak, Ganry, who you have met, is in Mirnee. He’ll be busy organizing a resistance in the royal city. He’ll be desperate for our help.”
“Do not fear, Artas, you can assure the Queen that the ships will sail within twelve hours. We’ll be packed with strong and brave Palaran sailors. Ganry shall have his aid from us, I promise you this.”
Satisfied that the plans were in motion and the ships would soon be setting sail, Artas left Port Brammanville, but not to return to Castle Villeroy. Instead, he would head straight to the Palaran border that joined with Vandemland. He knew Myriam would waste no time in dispatching the troops, and if he did not hurry he might even miss them before the invasion back to Mirnee. Artas had no intention of letting this happen. Ready for battle since all this began, he had wanted to stay with Ganry in the first instance. But it had been vital that he escorted the Queen back to her own lands. This he had done, and now it was time for that long-awaited battle.
After a couple of days’ travel and sleeping out in the open, one morning when he awoke wrapped in his bed roll, he could see the borders off in the distance. As he drew closer he could see that a mighty army had amassed. These must have been the combined forces of Mirnee and Palara, and it was indeed a powerful force. Whether it would be enough to overthrow the demons that ruled Mirnee, he could not say. One thing was certain though, the fate of the whole world depended on them.
31
Ganry, Linz, and his men, made their way back to his uncle’s home in the merchant quarters. The journey was trouble free and remarkably quiet; they even made good time. As they walked down the street on which his uncle’s home was situated, a sergeant and his men stepped out of the shadows. They greeted each other briefly, but aware of the dangers of being out in the open, Ganry invited them to join him. Linz rang the bell of the gateway, and they were all soon safely inside.
“It’s good to see you safe, Ganry, his uncle greeted him as he entered the kitchen, following behind Berne, his uncle’s head servant. “So much is in turmoil. It’s difficult to know who is still alive.”
“I still live, uncle, don’t worry for me. How are you and your household holding up?” Ganry asked.
“We can’t trade because every commercial venture in the city has been forced to close. People we know have disappeared, and there’s a general feeling of fear on the whole populous. There are monsters roaming the streets of our city, Ganry, huge creatures!” his uncle added in disbelief.
“Help will be on its way. You just need to stay hidden,” Ganry tried to reassure him. “For now, I need to meet up with those who have formed any sort of resistance. Do you know where they’re based?”
“Yes, I hear the Mermaid Inn down by the docks is their home for the moment. Though it can change quickly. It’s another with a cellar and tunnel that leads to the underground river, and out of the city. We have many such inns.”
“I know it. Though when we passed it by, there was no sign of the resistance,” Ganry remarked.
“They’ve only just started to organize. Citizens are supporting the royal guards that have mutinied. The leader of the resistance should be there now, until it’s discovered, anyway.”
Ganry and the sergeant briefly discussed what to do, knowing they should meet up with the resistance as soon as possible. After a short rest, and refreshment, they set off to the inn.
The inn was three levels down from the merchant quarters and they proceeded with caution. On a few occasions, they came across patrols of demons who were searching for curfew breakers. They were easy to avoid as they gave plenty of warning of their presence, constantly bickering and arguing amongst themselves. Reverting to violence as tempers flared, usually resulting in leaving one of their number dead in the street.
It was slow going, but eventually they made it to the inn. Ganry was aware of one of the secret coded knocks, and used the rhythm of tapping on the door. This was to relay the message that friends needed access. He just hoped the code was not obsolete. Luckily, it worked and soon they were on the inside, with the inn doors closed and locked behind them.
The resistance leader, a member of the Royal Guard, was not there. They had gone out patrolling and also to find provisions and weapons. Ganry spotted a familiar female tending to a wounded man. He approached her.
“Daphne, we are always meeting under dire circumstances. It seems neither of us are destined for peaceful times,” Ganry half joked.
“Ganry.” Daphne did not stop cleaning the wound of the injured man. “I’m glad you still live. We’ve heard rumors that the Emperor is dead. Are they true?”
“I’m afraid they are, but his son lives on,” Ganry confirmed. “I need to gather all Mirneans who are able and willing to fight,” he stated his purpose. “It’s time to attack the palace. I believe that is the source of these creatures. That is where they are entering our world.”
“I think you’re right,” she nodded her agreement, hands covered in blood as she pulled up the warm covers of the wounded soldier. The poor man was still conscious, though not very alert. His wounds looked life-threatening. “They do seem to originate from the palace, but they’re also leaving the city. Even if we could stop them arriving in our world, there are some already elsewhere in our kingdom.”
“One step at a time, Daphne,” Ganry suggested. “First we destroy their entry point. Then take back the city. There are others out in the kingdom attempting to track them down.”
“We’ve being trying to coordinate the defenses, and our numbers increase daily. There are many brave people who want to join our struggle, but most of them have no fighting skills whatsoever. It’s like leading lambs to the slaughter.”
“You’re right. They’d do better hiding well away,” Ganry agreed with her. “We need them off the streets and battened down somewhere safe. Those who can fight are much needed, though. I want to bring them together and bring the fight to us. Can you send out word to gather on the Barrack’s level?”
“Can do,” Daphne nodded, pleased that at last they had a seasoned soldier to lead them. All the commanders had been possessed by the evil that gathered in the palace.
With these words, Ganry left the inn and made his way towards the gate that would take him to the Barrack’s Level, where he would meet with Linz.
Linz had been busy sneaking around to get to the gates of the Barrack’s Level. As with everywhere else, all was in chaos, though there appeared to be no fighting on this level. He searched the remaining soldiers, seeking a sergeant or anyone who looked like he was not petrified. In one of the wooden barracks he could see men gathered, and a lookout on the door. The lookout allowed him access, merely because he was human and not possessed.
The general discussion from the soldiers that Linz overheard were complaints that their commanders had instructed them to capture or kill citizens; it was madness. He stood on a table and shouted out to get the attention of the group, informing them of Ganry and his plans to gather all the able fighters to take the palace. It was time to destroy whoever was bringing these ungodly creatures here. There was a cheer amongst the exhausted men. Most of them knew Ganry, or had heard of him. He was quite a legendary soldier in the land of Mirnee, from his deeds many years ago in other battles.
“We have to stop the beasts coming through, or our whole world is lost,” Linz said to the sergeant attempting to lead the group.
“Most of my men have left,” Sergeant Rygha said. “It won’t be easy to gather them back again. Many had given up hope, once there were no commanders left to coordinate a defense. These who remain here will fight to the death to free Mirnee. I hope Ganry has a good plan.”
“Yes, he’s with the rebellion now, gathering as many fighters as he can to come to this level. He’ll be on his way as we speak, as well as all the stragglers he’s attempting to gather,” Linz said. “Hopefully those men who are in hiding will get the word, and join us.”
Just as he spoke, Ganry arrived through the doorway. Sergeant Rygha knew Ganry well and trusted his judgement. He himself had worked under Ganry many years ago when he had lived in Mirnee. Although Ganry was no longer a Mirnean soldier, the sergeant greeted him with a Mirnean salute, which Ganry automatically returned.
“Rygha, it’s good to see you got that promotion you worked so hard for,” he said, patting the man on the back as they embraced in greeting.
“I had heard you were dead. Then I heard you had saved our young heir. It was hard to know which tale was true, there are that many,” Rygha replied, as the group chatted among themselves. There was excitement among the men that at last something could be done. “It’s a great relief to see some of those rumors were wrong. We welcome your help. These witches have caused enough troubles for Mirnee, it’s time we rid ourselves of them.”
Ganry said nothing but simply nodded his agreement. He updated the sergeant on the strength of the resistance that would be joining them.
“It’s led by a man from these very barracks, a Sergeant Prost.”
“So he did escape,” Rygha smiled. “We had heard that they’d killed him, but he is a wily soldier, that one. The resistance is lucky to have him. He will lead them well.”
Sergeant Rygha ordered silence so the men could hear from their new leader. Ganry quietly told them of the plans to attack the palace. The men were to eat and sleep well this night, for the attack would begin tomorrow.
A soldier came in from outside and informed Ganry that a rebel had arrived asking for him. He followed the soldier out towards the gates of the barracks. There he could see a familiar face.
“Ganry, you old dog,” Riley cried out, as the two men approached each other and embraced. I felt certain you would be dead by now, but it’s such a lift to the spirits to see you alive and well.”
“And you too, my friend.” Ganry was equally pleased to see the mercenary. He turned to the sergeant who had followed him. “This is Riley, a good man to have by your side. I have fought with him before. He is true to Mirnee and strong in battle.”
The sergeant greeted the new arrival. “Welcome, we need as many men true to Mirnee as we can find. The road ahead is a treacherous one, and we will lose many on the way.”
“We have many mercenaries working with us,” Riley said. “They have seen the beasts about in the lands, and came to the aid of their Emperor. Is it the witches again?” he asked, turning to Ganry.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Ganry replied. “I’ve seen them in the palace. They’re stronger this time, and they’ve managed to bring these beasts through from some hellhole, or other.”
Ganry updated Riley on the plan to gather all human fighters and attack the palace. Riley offered to continue fighting any straggling monsters roaming the city streets. Surely, once the palace was under attack, all the creatures would make their way back to assist. When this happened, the mercenaries would join Ganry.
They parted ways and Riley returned to the streets, glad of the knowledge that there might be an end in sight to this chaos. He had witnessed women and children pulled to pieces by beastly creatures, who then fed on the meat and bones. These monsters must have come from the pits of hell, and he hoped that Ganry would find whoever was leading them.
32
Cronos watched the battle below, as he flew above on Canne, his Asgwern. He had been communicating with Grecia, using their mind powers, and had warned her of any demons in their pathway. The wild wolves were ferocious fighters, attacking any foul creatures they came across, directed by the three wolf people.
Whilst they were no match for the monsters as individuals, as a pack they were ruthless and vicious. Snapping at the heels of the demons. Biting into the tendons on the back of their legs. Jumping onto their backs, and sinking long canines into flesh at the back of beastly necks, or throats. So devastating were their attacks that the smaller demons ran whenever they came across them. Usually to no avail, as the wolves would chase them down, easily catching them up and cutting through them like a whirlwind.
Without warning, Canne banked swiftly to one side. The Asgwern did this so quickly that he nearly dislodged Cronos. The maneuver was in perfect timing as another Asgwern, with a demon rider on its back, swooped down on them from above. Thanks to Canne’s evasive action, they just managed to avoid the attack. Scanning the sky, Cronos could see two further beasts circling above.
I’m being attacked, he mind-talked with Grecia on the ground below, three of those flying creatures are above me. I’ll draw them away.
Get yourself out of there, Grecia said, wishing she could shout her instructions for him to hear. Cronos could sense that Grecia was demanding she be obeyed.
No, he insisted. I can lead them away and deal with them. They are a danger to you on the ground.
He turned Canne around, ignoring Grecia’s pleas in his head for him to return, and flew high into the sky. Three Asgwern beasts followed behind. Aware of the risk of his actions, he was also conscious of his responsibilities. He could not allow these flying monsters to attack on the ground. He was Emperor now, his people needed him. A reassuring voice he believed was his spirit guide urged him on. It told him he could defeat these creatures, and help keep the marauding wolf pack safe from an attack from the skies. They must keep battling their way to the Palaran border. Keep them close, the voice whispered in Cronos’s head.
Canne was a king amongst the Asgwern. He was far bigger and more powerful than any other, and easily capable of outflying these three creatures. It was the main reason that Thalia had chosen him to be her own personal Asgwern. Canne flew much faster to keep his Master safe. Cronos found himself slowing the beast down to keep them closer to their hunters. It was all a matter of timing: too fast and they would be left behind, too slow and they were almost upon him. As they flew at speed, he did not know what his plan was. Perhaps he had acted rashly. Now he was uncertain how he could deal with these creatures, all alone. Considering an escape at speed to leave the other Asgwern in his wake, he saw up ahead a chasm that was cut into the ground. It was wide and deep, and an idea came to him.
Filled with self-belief, he pressed his knees into Canne’s neck and directed him down, instructing Canne to fly at great speed straight into the chasm below. The Asgwern behind him followed his moves. He could hear their battle screeches, almost triumphant in believing they had him trapped. Faster and faster Canne swooped down, the other Asgwern in pursuit. Cronos guided him, until they were below the level of the cliff walls and heading straight for a sheer rock face. Right at the last minute, Cronos pulled back on Canne’s neck. The large Asgwern banked swiftly to the right, now flying in parallel with the chasm walls. The leading Asgwern that followed was not so swift, and quickly smashed into the cliff face, at speed. It fell with a rider still on its back, plunging down two hundred feet below. Soon both were laying in a crumpled heap on the ground, unmoving. One down, two to go.
Knowing his first tactic would not work a second time, he took flight, high in the skies, while he considered his next move. Glancing behind he could see the ugly beasts close on his tail. Their vicious sharp maws opened wide as they screeched their anger. Beaks so wide he could almost see into their craw. Canne did not appear as ugly as they were. Perhaps because he had lost the glint of evil in his eye, but they had not. Their eyes flickered with a red glow, glimmering wickedly from each beast.
The skies were stormy and dark, all around was twilight. Never could the sun burn through the magic-induced ominous weather. Cronos felt his time was running out. He needed to be rid of these flying monsters, and get back to Grecia and her wolves.
Knowing that Canne was tiring, he had to think of something quickly. Attack would be the best form of defense. He quickly banked Canne to the right, his move so unexpected to the chasing creatures, that they flew right past him. Cronos pulled back on Canne and directed him to fly behind the Asgwern. Now he was the one doing the chasing. Before they had a chance to react, Canne swooped down on the creature at the rear, his sharp talons grasping the demon rider and lifting him off the back of his ride, before releasing him and letting him fall to the ground, many hundreds of feet below.
The Asgwern was now riderless and in a panic as it flew aimlessly. They were solitary creatures, these monstrous birds, and only flew in packs when directed to do so by their riders. Now there was no one controlling the creature, and it was unsure what to do. It had become so disorientated that it had not realized that Canne was upon it, until it was too late. Canne sunk his talons into the confused Asgwern’s neck. His sharp talons pierced the skin, completely closing his claws tightly, decapitating the flying demon. Canne watched in satisfaction as the bird spiraled down, until it thudded into the chasm floor.
This time, it was Canne who was nearly caught unawares as the remaining creature suddenly swung round, spurred on by his rider, and attacked him. Its sharp beak stabbed at Canne’s face, just missing his eye, but still it cut into Canne, drawing blood. During the attack, Canne turned almost upside down, Cronos nearly falling from the back of his body, and only just managed to grab at the Asgwern’s neck, clinging on.
They faced off together, two ferocious beasts hovering in the sky, their huge wings beating frantically to keep them stable. Canne looked at the ferocious red eyes of his enemy, aware he was tiring. He could see fatigue in his opponent too, and more than fatigue, he could sense fear. They clashed together, talons attempting to find purchase on each other’s bodies. Beaks stabbed swiftly, in the hope of striking the fatal flow, or at least causing a debilitating wound.
Both Asgwerns were veterans of battle, and knew how to avoid serious injury. The battle raged on and on. The creatures trying to find an advantage, but neither was able. Canne, although weary, was beginning to overpower his opponent, easily fighting off the attacks and countering with his own. He had not yet managed to land a killing blow, but the other Asgwern was bleeding from a number of wounds, and its actions were becoming more erratic as it realized it might be facing defeat.
Cronos could see that victory was almost theirs, as the other Asgwern showed signs of weakness. He urged Canne on to find the killing blow. So engrossed was he, that he failed to notice that the demon on its back had drawn his bow, and fired at him. The arrow crashed against his head, sending him into a slump as his sight went hazy. No longer able to hold onto Canne’s back, he slipped off the Asgwern and went hurtling down toward the ground below.
Canne felt victory was close, and maneuvered himself into a position to land the killing blow. At that moment, he felt the young boy fall from his back. His whole purpose in life was to protect this child, at all costs. If he failed in this, then he may as well die too. Ignoring the other Asgwern, he left the battle, and quickly looked below to witness a small human body hurtling towards the ground. He dived down at speed, desperate to reach the boy before he hit the ground.
Despite his speed and quick reactions, it seemed he would not make it in time. The boy was almost at the ground when the great Asgwern flew under his unconscious body. The underside of the Asgwern’s body scraped on jagged rocks, but Canne managed to thud Cronos onto his back. He slowly banked and landed on the floor of the canyon, gently easing the boy off his back. Cronos fell to the floor, motionless.
Canne approached him tentatively, fearing the worst. He viewed the boy’s body, prone on the ground. Red human blood seeped from an open wound on his head. Canne gave out a rattling sound of sadness from his throat as he purred at the boy. He arched back his huge head, and above he could see that the other Asgwern circled, high in the sky. Canne let out a long wail of despair as he stood protectively over the small and still body of Cronos.
33
As he rode into the camp looking for the commanders, Artas spotted Perseus, Qutaybah’s head man and a strong mercenary. They had ridden and fought together when forced to rescue the Duchess from the Akkedis in the land of Vandemland. Perseus had proved to be a true friend, and a great warrior. He was glad of his presence and rode over to greet him.
“So, you bring trouble to our doorstep again, my friend?” Perseus joked as he clasped arms with Artas, while they both balanced on horseback.
“This world does not wish us to grow old and fat,” Artas replied, laughing. “Is Qutaybah around?”
“He’s in the Commanders’ tent and speaks with leaders from your lands. I think he warns them to expect fierce creatures at the other side of Chervin Forest.”
Artas looked over to the edge of the forest. The landscape had changed slightly, from only a few days ago. The trees were very dense, even more so than he remembered, it was almost as if they had closed in together and formed a barrier. The forest looked impassable, but Artas knew this to not be true, as he himself had ridden through it barely three days earlier. There was some strange magic at work here.
“The trees come together to allow none to pass that they do not desire the company of. Do not look so concerned, they will part for us,” Perseus informed Artas as he noticed his worried frown looking over to the forest.
“I’ve seen some strange things these past few years, but this forest is one of the strangest. How can trees move? It’s simply not possible.” Artas was truly in awe.
“My people do not ask those questions, Artas. Legend has it that the forest has protected this land many times, but no one who lives today has actually seen it in action. Yet now, here you and I witness the forest defending this border. It will not allow those creatures to pass through, and if they are foolish enough to try, it will be the end of them, of this I have no doubts.”
“Let’s hope it allows us through then,” Artas replied.
“Have faith, Palaran. We shall pass safely.”
Perseus turned his horse to give the black stallion to the stable masters. Artas followed with his dappled mare. They approached the Commanders’ tent together. After saluting to the guard, Perseus entered with Artas following behind.
In the tent, Artas recognized many of the generals from Palara. He had an honorary role as Head of the Palaran army, but it was simply a ceremonial position. The Palarans quietly acknowledged his arrival with small nods and salutes. Commander Braithwaite, one of Palara’s best, approached Artas to speak privately with him.
“Is it true, Artas?” Braithwaite asked. “There are huge beasts to fight, that are not of this world?”
“It is, Commander. I’m afraid it’s the same foe as two years ago. The witches have risen again, and this time they’ve managed to summon creatures not of this world.”
“Then how are we to beat such enemies?” Braithwaite pondered.
“With bravery and valor, Commander,” Artas smiled. “They may be fierce and strong, but they’re not the brightest of creatures. We need to outsmart them. If we keep one step ahead, I think we’ll defeat them.”
“You seem confident of this, Artas.”
“Ganry is in the royal city of Mirnee, where the witches seem to have possessed all the commanders. I’m sure, as we speak, he’s already battling the creatures there, with the aid of Mirnean fighters.”
“I’m no coward, Artas, but do we have what it takes to put these things down?”
“I know you’re no coward, sir.” Artas patted his shoulders and attempted a smile. “We shall defeat them, because we have no choice. They will not be satisfied with Mirnee; next it will be Palara. Defeat them we must, Commander, as the alternative does not bear thinking of.”
The commander nodded his understanding. This war was not just Mirnee’s, it was the world’s. If they did not conquer these deadly creatures, all was at risk. Commander Braithwaite thought of his own family. His children were all grown now, two of them in the ranks of soldiers in the camp. He had three amazing grandchildren and the thought that they would live in a world where those creatures ruled, boiled his blood.
“The troops are ready, Artas, just say the word,” Commander Braithwaite finished.
“Can you tell me what Queen Myriam has organized, Commander?” Artas wondered.
“She’s sent some of the naval forces directly to the royal city in Mirnee, and she’s sent word to the wolf people to send their help. Plus, our own forces are being gathered, but we’re keeping a heavy guard on our borders and the castle, in case they get through.”
Artas nodded. Myriam had done well, she had thought of every possible angle to send help from Palara. Ganry would appreciate the naval forces, if they got there in time.
The commander and Artas returned to the meeting. Qutaybah was describing the beasts to the leaders of Vandemland and Palara. At that moment, Artas spotted Myriam, deep in conversation and dressed in battle armor. Although shocked, he was not surprised. She would want to lead from the front, as was the custom with the D’Anjue family. He just hoped she would survive the coming days.
34
Hendon and Azmariddian, the Mirnean druid, had so far encountered little trouble as they carried out their task of finding the Book of Opposites. According to the ancient scroll, the witches had hidden it in their high temple. The old text books and scrolls they had studied, indicated that the high temple was south of Mirnee, less than a day’s walk. It was here that he hoped to find the spell book, and with that send these accursed creatures back to where they came from.
They were busily discussing the merits of different forms of incantations, that they almost walked into a patrol of demons. It was only upon hearing their marching footsteps at the very last minute, that alerted them to their presence. Quickly, they scurried behind a formation of large boulders at the road side, hidden out of sight.
“Look,” Azmariddian whispered, as he pointed to a line of humans which were being led by a fearsome-looking creature. The line was guarded by four other demons, who walked at their sides. “They’re chained. I think they’re taking human prisoners to use as slaves, poor souls. Can we not help them?”
Hendon looked on. Of course he wanted to help these wretched people who were heavily manacled. Even from here, he could see their skin rubbed raw and bleeding from the heavy metal. From what he was looking at, he doubted many of them would live for much longer. Especially if left in their current predicament. It was a difficult decision because their mission was crucial in this war, but an idea came to him. Concentrating all his efforts, he cast his mind out into the wilderness, searching for the aura of a powerful beast. As he did so, he came across a huge bear, not far from here.
“There is a bear close by. I think I can lead it here and persuade it that these creatures are a threat to it,” Hendon informed the druid.
“Will one bear be enough, do you think?” Azmariddian queried. “It would not be fair of us to bring this creature here, only to face its own death.”
“You’re right, it might be enough alone, but I sense others nearby,” Hendon replied, his face a mask of concentration while he searched the land looking for more allies. “Yes. Yes, I’ve found two more, and they’re already angry,” he smiled as if this was good news. “They’re just itching for a fight.”
Hendon squat down on the floor and concentrated his thoughts on commanding the bears. Communicating with animals was a skill he had since he was a child. He could often make creatures obey him, without saying a word. But this situation was still difficult, as he did not have much time.
First, he needed to coax them here, and they were still some distance away. Nonetheless, he burrowed his way into the mind of the first great bear, cajoling him into taking the path that would lead him towards them. The bear was not too pleased with this sudden interference. It had wanted to go to the river to hunt, and now it was being asked to go in the opposite direction. Once Hendon was certain that the bear was heading this way, he left him and jumped into the minds of one of the others. Again, persuading them to change their track, and head towards him.
Hendon felt pleased with himself once all three bears were heading this way, though he was aware that none of them was too pleased to be taking an unwanted detour. It made their heads buzz with anger, even though they were unsure why. Each of them understood their anger was directed to some unseen force on the road.
Hendon could sense the arrival of the first bear, and it suddenly came crashing out of the undergrowth and onto the road directly in front of the demons and humans.
Just for a moment they stood facing each other off. Not a soul moved, not a sound was to be heard. The demons looked bemused at the huge bear that blocked their path, uncertain what to make of it. The lead demon, the one holding the chains shackled around the humans, moved closer to inspect this strange creature.
Hendon pushed hard in the bear’s mind, agitating him to a point of fury, until he lashed out at the creature in front of him. Its huge paws cut across the demon’s neck. Its long claws cut deep, leaving bloodied furrows in the split flesh. Green blood spurted high into the air, as the demon looked on in surprise. Its face showed a look of incomprehension, before it crumpled to the floor, dead.
That was the cue for all hell to break loose. The demons were now angered, and surprised by the death of their fellow kind. They drew weapons, slowly advancing on the bear. Unsure of what it was, they occasionally slashed out with a sword or an axe. Still they were wary of getting too close, and none of the blows struck the bear.
The bear roared its mood out loudly, and stood high on its hind legs. It was indeed a fearsome creature, towering above the demons in front of it. Steadily, they backed away.
Behind the demons, the other two bears charged out of the woodlands. Hendon concentrated on them, casting his mind on them he worked up a furious anger. Buzzing around in their heads like a troublesome bee, he urged them on and directed their wrath at the demons before them. The poor bears felt as if their heads would explode and were full of confusion and fury. They believed the creatures before them were to blame.
Roaring out in rage, they attacked the hapless demons who were quickly overpowered. Razor sharp teeth and knife-like claws ripped them to shreds. The attack was so sudden and furious that none of the demons were able to offer any resistance. It was soon over and all lay dead on the road, horribly mutilated, ravaged and ripped to shreds by the bears who Hendon had set into a violent frenzy. He worked now to calm their minds, as the last thing he needed was for the bears to attack the humans.
Slowly the bears returned to a state of serenity with their anger dispelled. They sniffed curiously at the dead creatures, prodding them with huge paws, and sniffing at the free flowing blood. The first bear ambled towards the humans, all pressed together and still chained to the dead demon. Just for a moment, Hendon thought the bear would attack in its blood lust, but he could sense the creature’s mind was calm now. It simply dropped back down on all fours and walked back into the forest, not once looking back. The others soon followed, their anger now satiated, they too ambled off at a dozy pace.
Hendon and Azmariddian came out from their hiding places once the bears had gone, rushing to the humans who still cowered in the road.
“It’s over, you are safe for now,” Hendon reassured them.
The druid removed their chains with a spell, causing the metal to dissolve.
“What happened?” one man asked Hendon. “Was that your doing?”
“No time to explain,” Hendon replied, brushing off the query. “You cannot stay out in the open like this. Go find somewhere to take shelter. Do any of you know anywhere local that you can go hide for a while?”
“I know somewhere,” a young boy spoke up. He was disheveled and tired, but Hendon could see defiance in his eyes. “It’s not far from here, caves that are hidden by brush and gorse. We’ll be safe.”
“Then go, and get there quickly. We’ll follow for a while, but we are not able to stay with you.”
Hendon and Azmariddian helped some of the weaker prisoners to their feet. They walked with them, offering support where needed. Progress was slow, but soon they were deep into the trees and heading towards a rock face. As they drew closer, the young boy who had spoken of the caves broke away and studied the cliff wall. The group waited for his instructions. For a moment, Hendon was beginning to think the boy must have taken them the wrong way, but then he shouted out, in joy.
“Here, it’s here! Come, this way,” he yelled, laughing at his own relief in finding the hidden caves.
The entrance to the caves was well hidden. Anyone passing would be unlikely to find it, so they should be safe here. As he helped settle them in, Hendon could hear the tinkling of running water at the back of the cave.
Once they were certain the ragged group were settled, Hendon and Azmariddian were readying to set off again on their journey to find the witches’ hideout. Hendon shouted the boy over, “Do you know this area well, boy?” he asked, hopeful.
The boy nodded that he did.
“Can you draw me a map in the dirt to a place called Haunted Hill?”
Though the boy’s eyes suddenly looked fearful, he nodded his agreement and searched for a long stick. Sure enough, he drew a crude map, and it did not look like they had far to go.
“You will look for a very old, knotted tree,” the boy said. “Stories tell of a place where they hanged witches. Other stories say it’s an entrance to the witches’ lair. It is a fearful place, sir,’ he finished.
Thanking the boy, they set off, leaving behind a small amount of supplies. There were enough adults to sort out a hunting party, once they were rested.
Hopefully they would not be distracted further. The success of this quest could determine the outcome of the coming war.
35
Grecia scanned the skies, anxiously looking for Cronos to return safely. He had been foolish to fly off, taking those Asgwern with him. She knew his intentions were good, but he had a vital role to play in this, she was certain. Without him, she doubted they could be victorious. Having been tasked to keep him safe, now she felt helpless. All she could do was hope for his safe return.
Still in wolf form, Grecia continued to join in with the battle on the ground. They were almost at the mountain pass of Mount Palmern, that led into Palara. There had been plenty of resistance on the way. The wild wolves of Mirnee had come to her call, and they attacked the demons on the journey here. Now the border was in sight, and the fighting was getting more intense.
The demons seemed to be in small groups, which made it easier to attack them. Whilst they were larger than the wild wolves, the wolves had numbers on their side. They attacked as a pack, coordinated well, and in sync with one other. Targeting individual demons and overpowering them, until they had them down on the ground where they would summarily dispatch the hapless beast. They ripped out throats with their huge canines, before moving onto the next.
The battle was going well and they had advanced quickly. Up ahead, Grecia could see the shimmering barrier that lay across the pass, barring entry or exit. Even from where she was, she could sense its power, raising the hackles on the back of her neck. For this barrier to be functioning, the witches must be close by. If they could find and kill the witches, they could break down the barrier.
Grecia held back and changed into human form. A number of demons were scattered around, dead on the ground, but for each one there accompanied more dead wolves. A large number of the packs had already been killed. While larger numbers had proved decisive, they were quickly being reduced at a rate that could not be sustained. She could not allow for the wild wolves of Mirnee to be decimated.
Considering ordering the wolves to retreat, she saw a familiar figure. Looking again, disbelievingly, she was sure she must be wrong, but no, it was definitely him. Stood, with sword in hand battling against the wolves, was Torno. Her companion, and personal bodyguard to Cronos. Yet, there he stood before her, fighting for the enemy. He could only have been possessed, but it would take a strong essence to possess a wolf person.
Now her main task was to rescue Torno. With him by her side, combined with Lazras and Kregon, they would be stronger. Victory would be assured. She could not leave this place knowing he had been possessed. There was only one thing for it, she either had to kill him, or deflect the evil spirit inside of him. Grecia prayed that Torno’s spirit was not yet rejected. If it was, then he would be gone forever from this world.
Grecia changed back into her lupine form and slowly flanked around the creature she knew as Torno. Right now, she needed to find a safe area where she could enter a mystical trance. Just behind him there lay thick gorse and brush, ideal for her to hide away. Once certain she was out of sight, Grecia lay upon the ground and cleared her mind of everything. The battle noises around her, the smell of blood, the cries of fear, she shut it all out.
Concentrating heavily on Torno was not easy, but eventually she found the connection to his mind. Treading carefully, she delved into the mind of the monster that possessed Torno. He was an essence of evil and power, and she hid from his thoughts. His battle lust blinded him, for now. This helped her to get deeper into his subconscious, searching for her old friend, Torno, the wolf.
He was close by, she could sense him, but he was in a deep sleep. He would need to be awakened, if this was to work. Conjuring up memories of her homeland, where she ran in familiar meadows, might attract the suppressed spirit.
Torno was asleep in an abyss of darkness. He experienced his body floating in nothingness. Every time he attempted to awaken, the beast overpowered him, sending him back to an empty place. This time, something was different. In the distance he could hear a woman laughing. His thoughts stirred, once again he was aware of his prison. Who was that? Someone was there. A woman was beckoning him with her laughter.
The demon became aware of an intruder in the mind of the creature he possessed. It was not the wolf man, his spirit had been subdued. It was only a matter of time before it would be gone forever. No. This was something else, someone powerful. Something he feared.
Torno could see a familiar place, it lifted his heart. There was a woman running, and there was color, bright greens and blues. A meadow. Yes, it was grass, it was a part of his world. Concentrating harder, he could see a vision of his homeland. The woman approached him. She looked familiar but he could not place her.
Grecia dared not call out his name, but she could see a shadow in the meadow. Sure it was Torno and not the beast, she moved towards him, silently. When she stood in front of him, his hazy form took shape. She put her finger to her lips, indicating to the man before her to hush. They could not speak just yet.
Torno recognized it was Grecia, but what was she doing here? Just as he went to speak, she hushed him, but he could see the images she put in his mind. She showed him the gorse bushes, and a wolf hiding behind them. He knew that wolf was Grecia, and he started to walk towards the bushes.
The beast was unsure what was happening. It seemed he was losing control over the body he possessed, as it walked away from the battle and into the scrub land. He attempted to stop it, but the legs just kept moving. Before him stood a wolf, though much larger than those he had been fighting.
Grecia watched from her position in the thick brush, as she returned to her present world. The beast of Torno was looking for her, and it was into the brush where she hid, just as she had planned. As soon as he was within range, she leapt at him, sinking teeth into his muscled arm.
Careful not to cause too much injury to her companion’s body, but yet needing him to feel the sensation of pain to reach Torno’s spirit. At first the beast fought back, putting its strong arms around her wolf neck, in the hope of breaking it and strangling the very life out of this strange animal. He was certain this was the cause of the spirit’s awakening.
Torno felt the pain. He was injured, but did not know where. Images flashed through his mind that he was battling with a wolf, one that looked familiar, the shaman. Why would he battle with her? Now, he understood, she had come to him, awakened him from the darkness that he festered within. He must fight, now. Fight to evict the evil spirit that possessed his body. His life depended on it. Grecia’s life depended on it.
Grecia felt Torno grab at the fur on the back of her head, and wrap his other arm around her neck, squeezing. She struggled, but it was a battle she was losing. The tighter he squeezed the weaker she became. A dark mist descended over her eyes as she slowly lost consciousness. It was too late to save herself. Torno must win the war of wills in his head, or they would both be dead.
Suddenly the grip loosened, and Grecia gulped air into her almost bursting lungs. The creature staggered backwards, and fell to its knees. Putting hands to its ears, as if trying to close off some noise, it roared into the sky. Torno had regained his grip, and he yanked the memories of the demon away, until his own memories returned. He could see, he had sight. Before him were trees, he could once again see his world. Looking down on the ground, he could also see a large wolf laying still on the earth. Torno bent down and stroked at the thick fur. Grecia turned back into her human form.
“Torno,” she said in a weakened voice. “You did it.”
“Thanks to you, Grecia, my shaman. I am free and I must find Rochmyr, for he is imprisoned also. I must free my friend.”
Together they embraced as only friends can. Grecia was so happy to have Torno returned to the pack.
36
With the mercenaries, city guards, and volunteers all gathered, Ganry was ready to attack the palace from outside, and from within. He felt certain that the leader of this ungodly invasion was inside the palace. Now was the time to flush them out, whoever they were.
The plan was for himself and a few volunteers who were familiar with the inside of the palace layout, to go along with him. Using the secret tunnels that led into the palace grounds, they should arrive unseen. Ganry and his small group were entering the palace with only one purpose in mind: to find and kill the leader. At a given time, the rest of the forces would attack the palace, head on. The outside attack would cause a diversion that would allow Ganry and his men to complete their mission. The only way to beat these beasts was to kill their leader, the one summoning the demons. The chaos to come should allow him the opportunity to be successful.
The element of surprise was crucial, especially if they were to get into the palace unnoticed. The forces outside would give them one hour to get into position, before starting the attack. The initial attack would be preceded by a round of cannon fire. Once it commenced, he would hunt down the leader within the palace, and find out where the portal was situated.
The commanders made their final plans at the inn, before joining their men and readying them for battle. Ganry wished them all luck, giving the city guards a Mirnean national salute, both arms crossed over their chests. These were brave men who would risk everything for their kingdom. He may never see them again, as the risks were great. Although they are unlikely to be outnumbered, their foe was far stronger than any single human warrior. The attack needed to be swift. He hoped to find the enemy leader quickly, otherwise they might all perish in this battle.
Some headed through the tunnel that led into the palace grounds, others entered the palace level in other ways, to spread out. Once on that level, they would silently get into position, and wait for the signal to attack. Going separate ways once through the tunnel, Ganry’s party of around a hundred men made their way into the main palace building by using one of the many secret passageways that honeycombed the palace.
Once deep into the palace, they headed in all directions, but Ganry himself went for the royal chambers with a few of chosen men. As they moved quietly through the narrow passageways, Ganry heard voices through the walls. They were human voices, but from the mannerism and guttural outbursts, it soon became obvious they were not as they seemed. Ganry held up his hand to alert the others, and they all stopped in their tracks. Finding a small gap in the paneling, he saw the hallway where three men stood, dressed in royal guard officers’ uniforms.
“I smell those humans. They are close,” one remarked, sniffing the air.
“Thalia should not have sent all the witches to the borders, leaving us little magic in this place,” another replied in a gravelly voice, as if he found forming words difficult.
A chill ran down Ganry’s back at hearing the name Thalia. She was the banished Queen witch who had caused so much death and destruction in Palara by raising an army of the dead. It was all beginning to make sense to him now. Cronos becoming possessed, and then finding him almost dead in the throne room. She had tried to capture him once before, using her witch coven to kidnap the boy. Two years ago she had failed, but this time Ganry feared she had succeeded. If she too, had managed to enter this world, then the battle had just become much harder.
A third figure entered the hallway and Ganry could just about make him out. It was an old friend of his, General Julian. Even through the crack in the wall, Ganry could see it was not really him anymore. His face was twisted with anger, and his eyes burned a deep red, yet he had always been such a gentle human.
“What are you all doing, conniving here!” he yelled at the others. “Get out and man those walls, you scum. Our mistress has much to do, and we do not want those humans slowing the process down, you driveling idiots!”
Ganry heard growling noises emanating from their throats. It was as he had feared, these men were possessed, and probably past the point of no return. Grecia had warned him this might happen. He doubted he could save many of the commanders of the Mirnean army. They had been possessed for too long, and now their souls were gone. Mirnee had many brave men, but these commanders would be missed. Hopefully, for some it may not be too late, but he could not know until it was over.
They were waiting anxiously for the sound of the large cannon. At that point, all humans would begin the attack, both in and out of the palace. Ganry worried that they may be found if they waited much longer. He was relieved to see the creatures march away.
The roar of cannon fire echoed loudly, having been fired from the barracks level. He gave the order to his small group to exit the passageway. From inside the castle they could hear the sounds of the battle on the outside. He hoped the attack would go in their favor, but there was nothing he could do for now. It was their role to hunt down and kill the witch Queen. He could not fail in this task. Many men attacking the castle would die as they created a diversion so he could hunt down the leader, Thalia, and put an end to this madness.
With swords in hand, they carefully made their way towards the royal chambers. The battle to free Mirnee had begun at last.
37
Hendon and Azmariddian had set up camp for the night. They sat around eating their meager rations of cold provisions. It was best not light a fire, for fear of discovery.
“There, I hear it again. Did you hear that, Hendon?” the druid asked his traveling companion.
“I did. I fear we are being followed, because I’ve felt its presence for the last few hours.”
Both stared intently into the dark night. Hendon grasping his staff, while Azmariddian chanted an incantation under his breath. The bushes just ahead rustled and they prepared themselves for battle, when a small monkey leapt into the clearing. It stopped a few feet in front of them, watching them both curiously with its eyes wide open.
“Ha, ha, ha,” Hendon laughed in relief. “What manner of strange creature are you then?”
“It’s not from these parts,” Azmariddian responded. “We have no native creatures like that around here.”
The monkey moved closer towards them, sniffing the air as it slowly approached. Hendon threw it a piece of hard cheese, which it inspected for a few seconds, before wolfing it down.
“I think it’s a friendly little thing. I wonder if it was following that group we helped, and it’s ended up tagging onto us,” Hendon said.
“In all likelihood it just wants feeding by anyone who will have it,” Azmariddian said, with a frown to his brow. He was none too fond of monkeys, thinking of them as thieves and vagabonds’ pets.
The monkey moved closer and sat on Hendon’s lap, while he fed it nuts from his provisions.
“Look, Azmariddian, I think it likes me.”
“I wouldn’t let it get too close, it’s probably got fleas!” the druid announced distastefully.
They settled down for the night, and soon all three were fast asleep. Azmariddian alone in his bedroll, and Hendon shared his with his new found companion.
Come morning, the monkey was still with them, and they both shared their breakfast with it.
Hendon stood, walking to the edge of the clearing that they had camped on.
“There it is, can you see that tower peering over the trees?” Hendon said, as he pointed something out in the woodlands. “That’s the place, I’m certain. See, look at our map,” he said, unraveling the velum map.
“We still haven’t decided how we’re going to get inside that thing.” Azmariddian frowned again.
“Stop being a pessimist, Azmariddian, I will think of something,” Hendon snapped, but despite his scolding of the old druid, he did not know how he was going to enter the witches’ temple. “Let’s just get as close as we can, then we can reassess the situation.”
They packed up camp and set off in the direction of the spire. As they walked on, the monkey perched itself on Hendon’s shoulder.
From a distance they could see something that looked like a small castle with a spire. The walls seemed deserted, and neither Hendon or Azmariddian could sense any danger yet. As they neared the building, they became more wary, staying hidden in the dense forest.
“Whilst I cannot see them, I can sense those witches are here guarding their temple. How ever are we to get inside?” Azmariddian said, unable to keep the hopelessness from his voice.
“I have an idea, my friend,” Hendon whispered to the druid.
“Why is it I don’t like the sound of this?” Azmariddian replied, seemingly with a permanent frown.
“Because it’s a little crazy, but right now, it’s all we have,” Hendon said, taking the monkey from his shoulders. “I can communicate with animals. You’ve seen me do it, so you know it’s something I’m good at.” Hendon was attempting to gain the trust of his partner, the druid. “The monkey can make its way around the castle, and I can control it.”
“That’s it? That’s your plan? Are you crazy?” Azmariddian exclaimed, thinking his companion had lost his mind.
“It’s all we have,” Hendon retorted. “Have you a better idea?”
The druid said nothing. They had never discussed what they would do, once they found the witches’ temple. Probably for this exact reason, they simply did not know.
“It is fortuitous that we have this tiny creature,” Hendon said.
Azmariddian said nothing, but shook his head in despair.
“Druid, I want you to play your part,” Hendon demanded. “Scan your mind over the castle, reconnoiter the layout. I want to know exactly where that book is, so we can be in and out before anyone even knows we’re here.”
With that, he left the druid to his work. Though he did not let him out of sight, as he would be in a trance and in need of his protection, should they be seen. Hendon stroked the monkey while he watched Azmariddian go into the trance.
Hendon then entered the mind of the monkey, telling it that there was much food to be had in the castle, and showing it images. The creature immediately jumped off his back and into the trees. The next time he saw the little creature, it was scaling the wall, before it disappeared through an open window.
The old druid had put himself into a dark world. A hazy pathway stood before him and he knew he had arrived within the spirit realm. This was not a place he wished to linger within, but he called out on the hope that a spirit may recognize his presence. Swiftly, he turned around as he heard a shuffling noise behind him, and before him stood an adult albino. He had drawn the attention of Cronos’s spirit guide.
I have been waiting for you, the guide said in a gentle voice. We do not have much time. Thalia will be letting legions into your world if you do not use the book. There were many ways you could have gone, but I tried to draw your attention to the scroll, and lead you to the witches’ layer. The Book of Opposites is not hidden, as they do not know its use. They will only see blank pages for the opposition spell. You will not be able to read the darker magic spells. That is how it works. The user can only see the magic that they understand themselves. The book is stored within the library. It is not guarded, it simply awaits your arrival. Take it back to the palace and close the portal.
With those words the spirit faded and Azmariddian stood alone. He knew he could not linger in the spirit world, or he may become a part of it.
He awoke to Hendon shaking him.
“It’s in the library,” he said. “Unguarded and just waiting for us to take it. They don’t know its true worth,” Azmariddian recounted his conversation with the spirit. “The monkey must look for a book, not a scroll. It is called Double Incantations, but the reader can only see the pages of the magic he practices.”
“Watch over me while I concentrate harder,” Hendon said. “You, my friend, have done your part. Now it is our turn.”
Hendon lay upon the floor and put his mind into that of the monkey. He found the small creature under a table eating a piece of stale bread that someone must have dropped. The monkey was reluctant to look at the shelves with books on it, it wanted to look for more food. Hendon pushed harder in the monkey’s mind, now forcing away the thought of food and replacing it with an overwhelming need for the book.
Fortunately, the library was deserted and almost in darkness while the little creature searched. Each book it picked up, Hendon quickly scanned the title by seeing through the monkey’s eyes. One by one they were discarded onto the floor.
Just as it seemed they were going to fail, and possibly Azmariddian’s spirit guide being wrong, something drew Hendon’s attention. A small book lay open on a table. The monkey could sense Hendon’s excitement and jumped onto the desk, grasping the book in its arms.
“I think we have it,” he said, sitting up. “Quickly, get all the dried fruit out of the packs, or the little creature may not give it to us when he returns.”
They awaited the return of the little animal. It was hard to say who was the more excited, them, or the monkey at seeing the offered food. It pounced into the pile of fruits, throwing away its load. Azmariddian grabbed at the book and opened it. Sure enough, he could only read one side of the pages.
“By the wonders of the Maker, I think you’ve done it, Hendon,” he said, finally breaking into a laugh.
“Come, we must get away,” Hendon replied, grabbing the little monkey. “I must give you a name, little fellow, for you may have just saved our world.”
38
Two thousand Vandemlander soldiers and mercenaries. Five hundred Palaran soldiers and a hundred wolf people from the further reaches of the Palaran Kingdom. All now worked together to march through the forest that bordered Vandemland and Mirnee. They had come to the aid of their mutual neighbor. These three kingdoms had not always had such close relations, but it was not just about some petty territorial dispute this time. This was about the very survival of their races.
The forest, which had previously been so tightly packed that even a single rider could not pass through, had now opened up. There was room for three horsemen to ride side by side on the permitted roadway. Progress was slow, and it was almost half a day before the first of the troops emerged into the Kingdom of Mirnee. Scout riders had been sent ahead to see if there were hostile forces awaiting them. All reports confirmed it was clear. There were neither witches nor demons to be seen anywhere.
Queen Myriam sat upon her steed, as one of the scouts approached.
“We found their tracks,” he reported to Qutaybah. “They’re heading for the Palaran borders.”
“Seems they gave up on our border, and now they’ve turned their eyes to your Kingdom, m’lady,” Qutaybah said to the Palaran Queen, turning on his horse to speak with her.
She said nothing, but nodded her head silently. An invasion was inevitable, and she had expected such a move and had prepared for it. They were ready. The bulk of her armies were camped just at the other side of this main border crossing. They would fight fiercely to protect their kingdom.
Some of her forces she commanded here. A small expeditionary naval force was sailing to the port of the royal city in Mirnee, whilst the rest remained in harbor. The naval forces would aid Ganry in his battle from within Mirnee. She hoped he was safe, but she knew him well, and he would be in the thick of it, fighting for his homeland. Ganry would be looking for weaknesses, and a chance to kill the leader and close the portal.
By evening, all troops were through the woodlands. Just as it had magically opened to let them pass through, it quickly closed back up behind them. They rode into the open plains of Mirnee, and decided to camp for the night. The sun was already low in the sky and it would soon be dark.
“How did you come by such an amazing forest?” Myriam asked Qutaybah as they sat around a camp fire, eating the day’s hunt.
“No one really knows for certain. Different generations have different accounts. My favorite is the one about two farm houses that were situated in this great open plain. One was in Vandemland and the other in Mirnee. The farmers often squabbled over the exact border line, and grazing rights for their cattle. They both decided to plant a tree at the bottom of their land, to mark their own borders.
“One dark night, the Mirnean farmer felled the Vandemland tree. The next day the Vandemlander bought a magical seed from a witch. Within one single night of planting it, this single seed covered the whole area with saplings. A week later, it was a full forest, just as you see today. They say the Mirnean farmer’s cottage can still be seen deep in the forest, and his spirit haunts the area. Since that day, any Vandemlander can pass safely through the forest unmolested, as can those who do not mean us harm. If you enter the forest with any evil in your heart against Vandemlanders, you will never make it through.”
Myriam looked back over her shoulder at the forest. She could just see it on the edge of the horizon, and shivered. Although grateful for its protection, she still felt uneasy at its obvious powers.
“Tomorrow we head to the Palaran borders, and deal with the witches who’ve created the magical barrier there,” Qutaybah said. “For now, we should rest. The ride ahead will be hard in this accursed weather. I just wish we could be rid of this infernal darkness, and the constant rain storms. It slows down our advance.”
The camp settled down for the night. They had come organized with tents and tried their best to take some protection from the rain storms. Despite the conditions, Myriam was soon fast asleep.
She wasn’t sure how long she had slept, but when a noise awakened her it was still dark. Myriam lay there, straining to hear any sound that might seem out of place. Suddenly, she could hear the clash of metal on metal, and she quickly jumped up and grabbed her sword. Sleeping fully dressed meant she had only removed her armor, but there was no time to put it on. As she exited the small tent, she met with Artas, who informed her that a small party of demons had attacked the camp.
They moved together towards a group of soldiers, where Qutaybah was commanding his men in battle.
“M’Lady,” he bowed slightly when he saw her approach. “We have this in hand, but I think there’s something here that might interest you.”
She followed his lead and soon looked upon a group of soldiers who surrounded a small number of demons. The battle was not going well for the creatures, as a number of them lay dead on the ground. Perseus was leading the attack, and was in hand-to-hand combat with someone Myriam recognized immediately.
“It’s Rochmyr, the boy’s bodyguard,” she stated, staring at the giant.
“I thought it was, m’Lady,” Qutaybah nodded. “What do we do with him? The rest are almost beaten, and some have already fled.”
“We must not kill the giant,” Myriam turned to Qutaybah. “He may be possessed now, but we must do all we can to capture him alive. Hendon or Grecia will know what to do with him.”
“He’s a giant m’Lady, and fights like a demon. He’s already slain a number of my men,” Qutaybah informed her as he watched his men fighting the last of the evil spawn.
“Please, Qutaybah,” the Queen pleaded with him. “He is loyal to the boy, and fought bravely against the witches in Palara a few years ago. I feel we owe him the chance to be saved from this fate.”
Qutaybah looked at the Queen, then at the giant who was fighting with his Perseus. It would be difficult enough to beat such a voracious fighter, let alone take him alive.
“We will do our best, m’Lady,” Qutaybah said, as he joined in with his men in trying to subdue the giant.
“I should help,” Artas spoke, drawing his sword and joining the affray.
Rochmyr was the only one of the attackers now left standing. Around him lay the bodies of his fallen companions, and a few of his enemies. He watched as the soldiers surrounded him, but he kept them at bay with his huge club, which he swung before him. No one dared get too close, for a single blow from the giant’s weapon would most certainly mean death.
Darango, the demon inside of Rochmyr, cursed himself for his impetuousness. It was he who had ordered the attack on the humans. Now he realized that all was lost. Surrounded and outnumbered, he admitted to himself it had been a foolish plan to attack this party. Darango the demon was always rash and impulsive. He watched the humans closely as they surrounded him, especially that damned dark skinned warrior who had plagued him incessantly, sticking him at every opportunity with his sword. If he was to die this day, he was determined to take that devil with him.
Glancing to his right he saw two further warriors joining the attacking group. One of them sparked a warm memory, deep inside his head. Rochmyr, the giant half human, still had a tenuous link to his mind. He had not completely lost ahold of himself, and seeing a familiar face sparked more life into his very essence. Nevertheless, the demon still controlled his body, and he swung the huge club down on a human. Artas only just managed to avoid the blow, as he dived to one side. Darango had a sudden need to kill the newcomer. He knew not why, but he did not question his instincts. Some faint lingering thought in his head had been stirred by the sight of him, and it angered Darango. So much so that he lost a little control. He lunged at Artas again, swinging his club before him and scattering the other men until he was almost on him. As he towered over Artas, he raised his club and brought it crashing down.
Artas used his sword to parry the blow from the club. The giant swung it down, aiming for his head. The force of the blow was too much, and his weapon was swept aside as a numbing pain shot through his arm. His actions saved his life though, as the parry diverted the course of the club, and instead of his head, it crashed into the ground beside him. Still, the force of the strike had knocked Artas off his feet, and onto his back. The giant stood astride him, a smile of triumph on his face as he lifted his club once again, readying to smash it down on the human’s unprotected body.
“Rochmyr!” Artas cried out in despair. “It is me, Artas. Your friend. Do you not recognize me?”
Something flickered again deep in the mind of the giant. Much to the demon Darango’s anger, he shook his head to rid himself of the feeling. If he could just kill this man, all would be well, and he would be back in control. Again, he lifted his club, intent on crushing this troublesome insect. To his disbelief, his arms did not move. Instead, they stayed by his side. No matter how much he willed them, they did not obey his command. Instead, his fingers, as if they had a mind of their own, loosened their grip on his club. It fell to the ground.
Artas watched Rochmyr closely, waiting for the killing blow and unable to do anything to defend himself. His own arm numb and unresponsive, he could do nothing in defense. Yet, it never came. He saw confusion on the giant’s face, and watched with disbelief as the club slipped from his hands.
Perseus was quickly upon the giant’s shoulders, and before Artas’s eyes, he transformed into a huge snake. It coiled itself around the giant’s upper body, squeezing him tightly. The giant struggled and grabbed at the creature with his huge hands, but to no avail. The snake had his arms locked tightly by his side, and he could not free himself. As the snake squeezed harder, the giant’s face started to turn blue as the very air was crushed from his lungs. A blankness came into Rochmyr’s eyes, and his jaw became slack. He stumbled to his knees, falling forward to the ground.
The snake held him captive for a short while longer, its huge head staring at the passive face of the giant. A forked tongue flicked in and out, before it released him and slithered away. Perseus changed back into the human form of himself.
Artas stood up, his arm throbbing with pain, and walked over to the prone giant. He sighed with relief when he saw his chest rise and fall. How they would keep him subdued when he awoke, he had no idea. For now, he was just relieved that they had managed to overpowered him, and that he still lived. If they could exorcise the demon that controlled him, Rochmyr would be a valuable ally in the battle ahead, and a friend returned.
“Quickly!” Qutaybah ordered his men. “Get stout rope and tie him. I want him secure for when he awakens.”
39
The demons were in retreat of the Mirnean wild wolves’ rampant attacks, all directed by Grecia the shaman from Palara. She had cut through them, scattering them into disorganized groups. Now, they ran for their lives.
Grecia knew the war was not yet won. More of these foul beings could arrive yet. It was time to gather the wolves and regroup. Time to prepare for attacking the larger army on the borders. With Torno by her side, she felt better able to fight these strange creatures.
Cronos had not yet returned, and he was long overdue. Neither had she seen any Asgwern flying in the skies. Her concern for him was rising. His decision to take on the group of Asgwern was rash, and now she feared the worst.
Grecia found a quite spot, leaving Torno to marshal the wolves. Squatting down, cross legged, she focused her inner mind, scanning the skies and searching for Cronos and his flying beast. Closing her eyes, she moved her search to the ground. Images flew through her head, the landscape, the rivers and forests. All manner of creatures were laid bare to her, but no sign of Cronos. As she was about to give up, something, or someone, brushed her vision. Looking closely she observed a swirling mist. In it she saw the image of an albino. Just for a moment she thought it was Cronos, but it was too big to be him.
Put the battle aside, for now, Grecia, shaman of the wolf people. The albino addressed her. I will guide you to the boy. I am his spirit guide. He lays injured not an hour’s run from here. Go. Go to his side and help him.
Grecia quickly left the spirit, and called for Torno, instructing him on what needed to be done. Time was of the essence, as the longer they left him hurt, the more vulnerable he was to the monsters finding him. Grecia called the pack together and changed into her lupine form. They set off in the direction that Cronos’s spirit guide had indicated.
She was loathe to leave the territory unguarded, after they had fought so hard to clear the demons, but they would be back. For now, her main priority was the boy. His safety was paramount, because without him she doubted they could win this war.
***
Cronos groaned quietly as a fever ravaged through his body. Badly injured, he was protected by the Asgwern, Canne, who would not leave his side. The beast opened up one of his huge wings and spread it over the boy, shielding him from the elements. He knew help was coming, a vision had told him so. The messenger had been human, much like his young master, but older. He could also hear the howling of wolves and knew it was a good sign. These wolves were his friends and they would take care of his master.
They began to arrive and surrounded him, licking at his wings in greeting. In no time, he could see a human and allowed it to tend to his young master. He could sense this human had the gift of healing. Slowly, he hobbled away from his charge, leaving them room to tend him. Constantly, he had been scanning the skies and ground for danger. Now, he could wait for his master to be healed, and trusted these creatures to keep the boy safe. Relaxing, he soon fell into a light sleep, one eye constantly open for hazardous changes. His tired body needed rest, for there was much to come, and he knew he would need all his strength for his master, once he healed.
Grecia went to the boy and immediately started the healing process. He had lost much blood, but the Asgwern had kept him warm. They would rest here a few days and take care of the young Emperor. Grecia did not want to risk his life any more than she had to.
Her senses had warned her that a large army was marching towards the Palaran borders. It was far too mighty a troop for her and the wolves to do anything other than pick at the edges of such a powerful force. For now, that was the least of her concerns. She tended the boy, laying her hands on him and chanting the healing verses quietly to herself. This went throughout the night and into the early hours of the coming day.
The coming dawn saw Cronos awakening, very slowly. His healing was sped up when he spotted Torno by his side. His pale face lit up when he saw him, and he smiled at his personal bodyguard, who had protected him for the last two years. He thought he had lost this wolf man to the demons.
“It is good to see you smile, Cronos,” Torno greeted the boy. “We all feared for you, but the great beast kept you safe.” Torno nodded in the direction of the resting Asgwern.
Cronos looked over Torno’s shoulder, as if looking for someone. “Is Rochmyr here too?” he asked hopefully.
Torno placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “No, Cronos. He is not with us yet, but I vow I will find him. If it is possible, we will rid him of the evil that possesses him.”
In the last two years, Cronos had become inseparable from his personal bodyguards, who had been willing to sacrifice everything, including their lives, to keep him safe. Torno was alive, could he be so lucky as to have Rochmyr returned to his side as well? He hoped so.
It felt strange but surprisingly comforting, for Cronos to be surrounded by hundreds of wild wolves. They prowled the outskirts of the camp, and some lay by his side. From a short distance he could see the form of his Asgwern, resting, and he felt relieved that, for now, all was well.
Although they had wandered away from the borders to find Cronos, they would begin to travel back again the next day. It was time to regroup and prepare to attack the army of demons that had gathered on the borders, as opposed to the stragglers they had found so far. Grecia knew that alone they could do little other than harry them. Something anew was happening. The force she had sensed that was approaching the border lands, was a force for good. It was marching towards them. It filled her with hope, that together they could repel the evil that had taken over this land, and now threatened her homeland, Palara.
40
They had moved quickly away from the temple once they secured the book that they came for. Azmariddian was sure they had not been detected, but neither felt safe until they were as far away from the coven as possible. It meant traveling through the night, and as dawn began to break they could see the roof tops of the royal city in the distance.
Despite being tired from constant travel, they decided to enter the city and find a safe house. They needed to take protection whilst they planned the next move. Using one of the secret tunnels, which Azmariddian knew would lead into the lower levels of the city, they eventually made their way to the merchants’ quarters. As they moved through the streets, they witnessed pockets of fighting still going on in the city. This made progress slow. Luckily they came across a group of mercenaries who were hunting down the demons, and one recognized Azmariddian from the palace. It was good to be updated with the news of progress as the warriors informed them of what they knew.
“They say the soldiers are heading for the palace. That’s where the main battle will be fought,” one of them spoke to Azmariddian of what the soldiers had told him. “The mercenaries are to mop up any demons lingering in the streets. There’s also talk of a great battle at sea, with an invading navy attacking a rogue Mirnean fleet,” he said, feeling quite pleased with himself for knowing so much.
“That must be Queen Myriam’s doing,” Hendon replied, pleased at this news. “She would have thought of everything, knowing her as I do. I wouldn't be surprised to hear she’s out there, battling them herself.”
“Indeed,” the druid nodded his agreement. He had only met the queen briefly, but he was struck by her strong will and unwavering sense of purpose.
“It’s fairly easy to get through the city,” the mercenary finished, as he was turning to lead his party onwards. “Though access to the palace level will be difficult. Unless you can find yourselves a troop of soldiers.”
The two travelers thanked him for his update and turned in a different direction to the fighting.
“Let’s continue on then,” Hendon suggested.
Moving around the bottom levels of the city had always been relatively easy. This was where the poorer residents resided, and there had always been only a limited presence of security. The problem would not be guards at the gates, as in the past, but demons. Vicious creatures that had originally been sent from the palace in large groups, to capture the humans as slaves. The mercenaries were battling them, but had warned they were still around, only now they killed the humans as opposed to gathering them.
As they approached the market square, they could see activity. Groups of people were congregating around stalls, and distributing food for free. It seemed the people had rallied together and would see this war out by helping each other.
Hendon and Azmariddian approached the food stalls, much to the delight of Lucy the monkey, who jumped up and down with joy on Hendon’s shoulders. He was going to name the helpful little animal, Lucky, but when he realized it was female, Lucy seemed more appropriate.
They were soon surrounded by ragged children who were attracted to the little monkey. Entranced by the cute animal, it brought a little light into their gloomy lives.
They listened to the locals speaking about the ongoing battle as they ate the offered food, given to them by the stallholders.
“You know, Hendon, I was thinking,” Azmariddian spoke while they stood by a food stall, eating a warming vegetable stew. “I have some skill with the weather, and I’m certain these gloomy storms are here for a reason.”
“Well, they’re clearly magically induced,” Hendon noted. “Are you suggesting these creatures need rain?”
“Maybe not the rain, but have you noticed how the sun never breaks through the clouds?” the druid asked. “I could part a few of those clouds and let the sunlight in, just to see what effect it has on them.”
“I have no skills with the weather so I can’t help you, but I can keep you protected while you do your magic,” Hendon offered.
They agreed it was worth a try, and had nothing to lose, but first they would rise up through the city. Once they were closer to the palace, Azmariddian would attempt to part the clouds. Hopefully, the sun would shine over Mirnee, for the first time in weeks.
Saying their thanks and farewells to the people and children, they set off for the next level. This was where the first city wall appeared. The first level was on the outskirts of the city, now they were entering the perimeters. From here they could see smoke in the distance as they looked out to sea. Over the bay, small warships were arriving in the harbor. Even from here, Hendon could see the Palaran national flag. As they docked, hundreds of troops streamed off the vessels.
It did not take long to get to the merchants’ level. All that was left to overcome was the barracks level, to get to the palace. The battle raged harder here, with mercenaries and demons fighting openly in the streets. Hendon and Azmariddian looked for a quiet corner, so the druid could perform his weather spell.
They found an old prayer house with a bell tower, and made their way inside, climbing up the narrow and winding stone stairwell. At the top they found a small platform where Azmariddian knelt on the floor, readying for his chanting spell. Lucy sensed something was happening and remained quiet, tucking herself into Hendon’s cloak and snuggling up to the safeness of his warm body.
Hendon looked over the edge of the platform, where there was a courtyard below. He could see mercenaries fighting ugly demons.
Lightning struck in large white sheets across the darkened yellow and grey skies. Rain was a constant, never ceasing for a single moment. The stormy weather brought with it a sulfurous aroma, very unpleasant for humans, but the demons seemed to thrive on it.
Azmariddian continued chanting in a flat level tone, but soon the chanting become louder. As if in protest, a huge crack of thunder rang out, followed by forks of lightning. It struck at the platform where they stood, but both were unharmed. Hendon perceived a change in the atmosphere, though barely noticeable. Soon the dark sky brightened a little, the rain slowed down. Hendon looked up and could see the stormy dark clouds drifting away. The skies were turning into a light grey, and then a bright orb could be seen pushing through what was left of the storm clouds. The sun, it was trying to break through. The darkness began to lift, and the rain was now just a mere drizzle. The bad weather had not completely gone, but it should disperse within a day.
“By the Maker, you’ve done it, Azmariddian,” Hendon said to the weary druid.
“Well, it should give us some time,” Azmariddian spoke quietly, clearly exhausted from his efforts.
“Will it hold?” Hendon asked, lending a hand to Azmariddian to help him up from the ground.
“That I cannot know, but we can hope,” he replied. He sincerely hoped it would hold. He could not do another spell like that one, for a while yet. “Let’s see if it’s affected the creatures.”
They both stepped to the edge of the platform, looking down at the battle that raged below. Now the scene was a different one. No longer were the demons fighting the mercenaries, instead they shrieked in pain as the sun burst upon the courtyard, and they scattered to the shadows, hiding from its bright rays.
“I think we’ve found their weakness,” Hendon said to the druid.
41
Thalia’s plans had gone so well. Her forces were here in numbers, and she had control of the kingdom. The Emperor and his son were dead, and the borders between Mirnee and Palara closed. Her troops were amassing there, ready for an invasion to get her second kingdom.
But everything had not gone to plan. She had lost her great Asgwern, Canne, and they had been unable to close the border between Mirnee and Vandemland because of some infernal enchanted forest. Plus, the palace was now under attack. Despite this, Thalia was not concerned. She had expected some kind of revolt, and she was gaining the numbers to deal with it, while the portal was still open. Demons were entering this world every day.
A messenger arrived to speak with her. A small demon, not as fearsome or large as the others, it was used for administration rather than battle. He approached her, and fell to his knees, laying prone on the ground in front of his mistress. The creature’s face was pressed against the cold floor, while he waited for her command to speak.
“What is it? I’m very busy here,” she finally spotted him, and asked.
The creature gathered his courage, and told his mistress of the bad news he bore.
The messenger looked up meekly from the floor. “The weather is breaking,” he stuttered. “Sun lights up the city, and your demons flee in the face of its rays.”
How could this be? She had cast a powerful magical spell on the elements in this kingdom by blocking out the sun completely with dark storm clouds. Her creatures hated the sun, its rays burnt their skin and blinded them. Who could overturn such a powerful enchantment?
“We have also been infiltrated within the palace,” the small beast rushed out his final piece of news, and awaited the response. He doubted he would leave this room alive.
The last piece of information was not new to Thalia, she had sensed the presence of enemy forces inside the palace, but it had not concerned her. They were small in numbers, and her guards could easily deal with them. But the news about the weather was a different matter. Obviously, she had underestimated the power of the spell weavers here. If they were able to defeat her magic, then she must stay out of their way. For the first time since she had returned from her long banishment, she feared for her plans.
Thalia called over one of her lieutenants.
“Find the forces that are inside the palace. I sense there are only a few, and bring them to me alive. I will torture every last piece of information out of them, and determine who has lifted my spell.”
The soldier bowed and quickly left the dungeon, taking a small troop with him. As she watched them leave, Thalia felt a cold shiver tingle down her spine. It took a moment or two, before she realized that it was fear.
***
Ganry and his small group had searched through many chambers seeking out the witch queen, Thalia, with no luck. Not only could they not find her, but most of the palace seemed deserted. There were no witches and only a few demons, who they dispatched quickly.
He hoped the battle was going well outside, and he was encouraged when he saw sunlight streaming through one of the windows. If the weather was lifting, then maybe Thalia’s grip on this world was weakening.
They rounded a corner and found themselves confronted by a large troop of demons. It was obvious they had been waiting for them for as soon as they entered the corridor, further creatures appeared at their rear and cut off any retreat.
Ganry cursed himself quietly. He had been overconfident because of the lack of resistance, but now they had walked into a trap. The demons outnumbered them ten to one and escape was not an option. Ganry’s hand went instinctively to his sword. If he was to die here then he would take many of these creatures with him. Preparing to launch an attack, a human commander from the Mirnean army stepped out of the group of demons, and held his hand up in front of him.
“Resistance is futile,” the commander said. “Lay down your weapons, or die.”
Ganry was unsure what to do. It seemed that they were here to take them alive, but why? Perhaps it was just a trick, but he doubted it. If they had wanted them dead, they would be by now. He looked at the three men who stood by his side. Nodding at them, they dropped their weapons, as did Ganry. He felt, rather than saw, someone move behind him. Before he could react, a heavy blow struck him on the back of the head, and he crumpled to the floor.
***
Ganry and his fighting companions were carried down to the dungeons and thrown on to the ground in a heap. Cold water was doused over them to bring them back to consciousness.
Ganry felt the sharpness of a chill run right through his body. He shivered awake, only to see that he was in semi-darkness. Around the room, on the walls, were lit sconces, but they cast very little light. The stench was overpowering, sulfurous and choking, almost as if something had died, rotted, and turned into some stinking gas.
He rubbed his eyes, realizing he was not restrained. As his eyes scanned the room he became aware that they were surrounded by a guard of demons. From behind them came a laugh that sent an icy chill to his very core, a venomous, chilling sound. The demon guards parted, and a woman walked through them towards the prisoners. Ganry looked upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. A striking, but cruel face, and long dark hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back. This was Thalia, the Queen witch. Of this, he had no doubt.
From the corner of his eye he could see something shimmering. As he turned to see what had drawn his attention, he noticed a red swirling wheel hanging in midair. It was mesmerizing how it swirled, so beautiful that it was almost hypnotizing. Instantly, he forced his eyes away. This must be the portal. By fortune, good or bad, he was in the exact place he had been looking for. Now all he needed was to be free, so he could kill this evil witch.
42
Grecia and her wolves rested for two nights while she tended to Cronos. He recovered quickly and was soon walking about, under the watchful eye of Torno. On the dawn of the third day, wolves who were patrolling the plains, returned and informed Grecia that a human army was on the march and heading in their direction.
“That must be Qutaybah and the Queen returning, as promised,” Grecia said aloud. “We must meet them, and inform them of that gathered demon army on the borders.”
Grecia and half the pack of wolves left to meet the arriving troops. She left Torno and the rest of the wolves behind. Cronos was not yet strong enough to undertake such a journey, even on the back of his great winged beast.
Once on the plains, she changed into her lupine form to allow her to keep up with the wild wolf pack. Within the day they could see a haze of dust on the horizon, kicked up by the marching army. As they drew closer she called a halt to the wolves, on the brow of a hill, in direct line of the marching soldiers. They awaited their arrival.
Soon, the first of the soldiers marched passed them, in rows of five, disciplined and organized. Scouts were ahead checking for enemies. Despite their vigilance, it seemed they were unaware that a pack of wolves watched them go by.
She waited until at least half the army had passed, and looking down from her vantage point, she saw the Palaran flag. Sitting on a white horse, fully regaled in royal armor, sat Myriam, the Queen of Palara.
She threw back her head and howled, long and deep into the sky.
The marching troops came to a halt, scanning the surrounding area to find for the source of the call.
Grecia turned back into human form, and stood at the edge of the precipice, looking at the soldiers below.
“Welcome, Queen of Palara, you are indeed a welcome sight!” she shouted, before making her way down the hillock.
Myriam was overjoyed to see Grecia coming her way. She immediately dismounted and went to greet her.
“Grecia, it is so good to see you alive and well,” Myriam said as she embraced the shaman.
“It is good to see you too m’Lady,” Grecia responded in kind. “I bring further glad tidings. We have the young Emperor in our care, and his bodyguard, my kinsman, Torno, watches over him.”
“Oh my, this news just keeps getting better,” Myriam said, even more overjoyed to learn that Cronos and his personal protector were alive and well. “We have good news for them both. If you look down the line, you will see a giant of a man in the march. We have Rochmyr, and by the force of his will, he freed himself from his demon. Cronos will be delighted to have both his personal bodyguards back by his side.”
“Indeed, my Queen.” Grecia was pleased at the news about Rochmyr. Torno had said he would do all he could to find and rescue him. Now they could be reunited, and battle side by side once again.
Qutaybah rode up and greeted Grecia.
“Welcome, shaman, what can you tell me about the enemy forces?” he asked, keen to understand what lay in wait.
“We’ve been picking them off for the last few days. I have wolves patrolling the borders and reporting to me daily. A huge force of demons guard at the border. We must hurry though, for I fear they are there to invade Palara.”
“It is with haste that we ride then,” Qutaybah said. “Lead the way, and we will follow.”
Grecia changed back into her wolf form and called the others down from the hilltop. They set off at speed towards their camp.
They rode hard, aware of the urgency, the wolves leading the way and the human army close behind. A shout stopped some of them in their tracks
“Aaagghh! A beast! A flying beast!” a soldier from the front cried out.
They scanned the skies, and soldiers pointed their bows at the huge creature gliding just above them. On its back could be seen the shape of a small figure.
Grecia turned back into her human form and calmed the anxious soldiers. “Do not fear, it is friend, not foe.”
Myriam watched in fascination, if not with a little trepidation, as the huge beast flew lower, gradually decreasing in circles, until it landed near to the Palaran flag. It was graceful for a creature of its size. Myriam spurred her horse to jog over to the beast. As she arrived, she saw the prince dismounting from the Asgwern.
Cronos ran up to Myriam, who quickly dismounted. They hugged in greeting.
“That is some pet you have there, Cronos,” she said, laughing.
“He’s my friend and protector,” he replied, looking back over his shoulder fondly at the beast. “He saved my life.”
Myriam spotted Torno walking towards them, and called him over.
“You look better than when I last saw you, Torno.” She admired that he was rid of the leech of a demon. “I have someone who will be pleased to see you two.”
Myriam turned back and pointed in the direction of a huge man, who stood further back.
“Rochmyr! Rochmyr!” Cronos cried out and ran to his friend, closely followed by Torno. “I can’t believe it. You look so well.”
The giant picked him up and put the young boy upon his shoulders. Then he exchanged greetings with his good friend, the wolf man.
“We have already fought our battles,” Torno said to him. “What say you to returning to the palace and seeing what Ganry is up to?”
“Do you think we could?” Cronos said, excited. He so longed to return to the royal city. “We could all fly upon Canne’s back. He is big enough, even for you, Rochmyr.”
“I’m not sure I trust that thing,” Rochmyr answered. “How do you know it won’t try to take over our minds?”
“Canne is not a monster, Rochmyr,” Cronos defended his flying beast. “He saved my life and I trust him implicitly. He will not betray us.”
“We’ll discuss it over dinner,” Torno said. He could see the giant was none too pleased with the idea, but it would provide them with speed in getting to their destination.
The army was directed to a temporary camp, while Cronos had gone on ahead on Canne, to warn the remaining wolves of the coming forces. Soon, fires were burning and food was being cooked as everyone ate a hearty feast, as though it may be their last. For many here, it probably would be.
43
Azmariddian was familiar with the palace layout and many of the hidden passageways, though he had never had much cause to use them in the past, so they tread with care as they moved around. Once inside the city walls, they made their way to the palace, which had proved easier than expected. Much of that was due to his spell that had broken the gloomy dark weather. Most of the beasts were nowhere to be seen, but Azmariddian still felt their presence, probably hiding in the shadows.
One thing the two traveling friends had learned well, and that was to sneak around unnoticed. Now though, they would not need to stick to the shadows themselves, they could walk where there was light. They would wade through the confusion, and simply enter the palace by the kitchens.
Azmariddian was not a stranger to the palace kitchens. Often he had eaten there with his old friend, the head cook. When they entered, all was unusually quiet and deserted.
“The kitchens were my favorite place in the whole of the palace,” he said, turning to Hendon. “Always full of delicious smells, and a hive of activity.”
“Fear not,” Hendon tried to console the druid. “If everything goes to plan, these kitchens will soon be buzzing with activity once again.”
Azmariddian did not respond to the younger man’s attempts to bolster his confidence. Instead he walked away, towards one of the cooling pantries. If he remembered correctly, a network of hidden passageways began there, spreading throughout the palace. Hendon followed the druid through the maze of narrow passageways running through the walls. Soon, they arrived at a trapdoor, and Azmariddian stopped to look down at it.
“Where does it lead?” Hendon asked.
“Exactly where we want to go, but are we ready for this?” The druid was unsure if he was strong enough to face what they may find down there.
Hendon took out from his backpack the spell book they had stolen.
Azmariddian placed his hand on Hendon’s, which held the book tightly closed.
“We’ll need more than that, my young friend. Whoever is leading this rabble will be down there. I guarantee it.”
“Yes, I believe you’re right again, old man. But we have to get closer to the portal to close it. Once we’ve done that, I think it should cause confusion down there.”
“We can’t risk it being opened again,” Azmariddian said. “We need some battle spells, so we can take on the leader. It’s time to go face it. I can do this part alone, Hendon. I would understand if you leave now. You have done more than your fair share already. This is my kingdom, I must go all the way.”
“You don’t get rid of me that easy,” Hendon laughed. “I’m going to call upon the spirit world, see if there’s any help to be gained there.”
Hendon wasted no more time. He sat on the floor, lotus style, and entered a trance. Azmariddian was aware of this procedure. He had seen Hendon do it before, so he waited patiently. Meanwhile he used a small spell of light, and began to look through the spell book to find the right one for closing the portal.
I’m here, a voice spoke to Hendon, as if it had been awaiting his arrival in its world. You are confronting one who has already died in your world. Yet her body is as mortal as yours. If you destroy the body, then her soul will be cast back into the underworld.
The voice faded and Hendon found himself back in the narrow passageway with Azmariddian.
“Well, that was simple,” he said to the druid, who sat studying the book. “Her body is as disposable as yours and mine. All we have to do is kill her, and her soul will be banished to the underworld once again.”
“Who is she?” the druid asked.
“I’m not sure, but I think it’s probably the queen witch, Thalia.”
“Her, again. Will Mirnee ever be free from her evil doings?”
Hendon was taken aback by the druid’s venom at the mention of her name.
“I’ll close the portal,” Azmariddian offered. “I have the spell right here. You deal with the woman. Are we agreed?”
Hendon nodded as he opened the trap door. They lowered themselves into the dungeon unseen. A wretched scream was the first thing they heard. They guessed that humans were being tortured.
“We need to get closer,” Azmariddian whispered. “I want to see this portal before I close it.”
Hendon understood. It was something neither of them would ever get to see again.
The corridors were busy with the beasts that had entered through the portal and were heading upwards to the battle.
Finding a chamber with a metal grid, they could see into the main room clearly, and Hendon recognized the familiar figure who was chained to a wall. The witch queen was flaying Ganry’s back with a whiplash of fire.
“It’s Ganry. They have him captured,” Hendon said, a little louder than he meant to.
The druid hushed him.
“Look, it is her. The Witch Queen Thalia,” Azmariddian pointed out to him. “This is our chance to be finally rid of her.”
“That will not be so easy,” Hendon replied, remembering the havoc she managed to cause two years ago, and she was not even on this world then. “She has powerful magic.”
“So do we, my friend. Let’s not forget we have Ganry, too,” the druid pointed out. “If he doesn’t die before we can free him, he is a strong one in battle.”
Thalia lashed with fire across Ganry’s back again, raising another welt to match the many others that swelled on his burned skin. Ganry took his torture in silence. It was other humans that were screaming in fear.
“Why can’t you just accept that you have new rulers in this world?” Thalia yelled. “You know, I could use a human as strong as you, you fool. Take this offer while you can!” Clearly frustrated at this stubborn man, she was readying herself to kill him.
“I serve my own Queen, in Palara,” he said, his voice surprisingly strong considering his situation.
“But you are in my lands now, human. Here, I am ruler, and I could give you powers you have never dreamed of. A human queen cannot give you these things. You are a fool not to take it,” she finished, vehemence dripping in her voice.
“There is only one ruler in Mirnee, and that is the Emperor Cronos,” he said, his head drooping down to his chest, his skin dripping with salty sweat.
“What’s that you say?” Thalia thought she had heard him wrong. “The albino boy is dead, he can hardly rule Mirnee from the spirit world.”
“He lives, and every human around you serves him. We will take his kingdom back, and once again banish you from this world,” Ganry spat back at her.
“The boy lives!” Thalia rumbled, and even the walls shook at her fury.
“Now’s our chance,” Hendon urged. “Let’s get that portal closed, Azmariddian, while her mind is elsewhere.”
Azmariddian needed no further urging. He was already chanting the words from the book, quietly, his spell almost complete. The swirling red lights of the portal stopped, and turned pitch black. The whole room suddenly lit up with the brightest of white lights, blinding all within. Hendon did not waste any time. He spoke to Lucy, the monkey, who was hidden in his cloak. He gave her images of unfastening the chains that held Ganry. She was soon scuttling across the floor, towards the chained warrior that she had seen in her mind.
Madness ensued around them; the brilliant white light was too much for the demons in the chamber, and they fell to their knees, screeching in agony.
In the confusion, the little monkey was unnoticed, and soon climbing the walls to unfasten the clasps that held Ganry captive. Once free of his chains, he slumped to the floor. Under the cover of the brightness, he crawled away, dragging his body out of sight.
Thalia realized, as her eyes adjusted to the brightness, that the portal was gone. Quickly, she looked over to the human she had been torturing, but he was also gone.
“Who dares to interfere with my magic?” she cried out with a shaky voice. Yet there was no one in the dungeon chambers but her, and her pathetic creatures who writhed on the floor. She felt the chill of fear shoot down her spine. Whoever had the power to close the portal was indeed a powerful magician. She knew then that she must hide.
44
The armies of Palara and Vandemland moved into position along the border, hemming in the demons trapped between the attacking forces and the magical barrier. Surrounded and outnumbered, it was only a matter of time before the creatures would be overrun, but they were still a formidable force, and had repelled the first wave of attacks. For now, there was a stalemate.
Myriam, Artas, and Qutaybah surveyed the battlefield from a knoll that overlooked the border crossing.
“They are well entrenched in their position,” Artas said, as they looked down on the massed forces below. “We’ll lose many men in a frontal attack.”
“The barrier,” Myriam said, a sudden thought coming to her. “If we can remove the barrier, we will have them surrounded with my own forces on the other side. We need to find those witches, they can’t be far from their own magic. They’re the ones holding that barrier.”
Qutaybah agreed, and they spurred their horses, riding back to camp to plan their next move.
***
Cronos was not to be included in the battle, nor his Asgwern, as much as he wanted to be there. Grecia and Myriam had insisted that he return to the royal city. He should prepare to take back his palace when the battles were all won. His people would need him there, after all the chaos and destruction they would have been through. At first he refused to go, but once his closest friend and personal bodyguard, Rochmyr, agreed to go with him, he reluctantly gave in.
“Head straight for the underground tunnels and hide out there until you can find Ganry,” Grecia advised him. “With luck, Ganry will have control of the city already.”
He said his farewells to Artas and Torno, who he wished was going with him. Having just found his friend the wolf man, he was reluctant to leave him. But Torno had his own role to play in the unfolding battle, and Cronos understood this.
With a heavy heart, he and Rochmyr headed to the Asgwern who rested in a clearing. Climbing onto his back, the great beast opened his huge wings and slowly began to rise off the ground. It was a strain for Canne at first, carrying the boy and the giant. Once in the air, he would pick up speed. He was not going to let his master down and soon soared high into the sky, heading towards the royal city which they would reach by nightfall.
With the wind blowing through his hair, Cronos soon forgot his disappointment at missing the battle. Now, he looked forward to returning home and taking his rightful place as the Emperor of Mirnee.
***
“I’ll take Torno, and a small pack of the wild wolves,” Grecia said. “We’ll find the witches, my Queen, and will take great pleasure in killing every last one of them.”
“Take care, Grecia,” Myriam replied, embracing the wolf shaman. “My kingdom owes a lot to your people. I’d like you by my side when we liberate Mirnee.”
Grecia left immediately, taking Torno and around a dozen of the wild wolves with her. She had spoken in their minds before leaving, informing them of their task, and they immediately began sniffing the air and ground, swiftly searching for the familiar scent of a witch. Grecia and Torno watched on, as the wolves scurried from spot to spot, their noses barely lifting from the ground. It seemed just for a moment their efforts would be in vain, with no scent to be found. Then, one of the wolves let out a long yet quiet howl, before it ran off into a small woodland on the border. The others quickly followed. Grecia and Torno changed into their wolf form, and immediately chased after them.
The hunt was on.
***
Qutaybah rode to the front of his troops, ready to attack the demons once again. The passageway into the pass was quite narrow and easy for the beasts to defend. Already he had lost a number of soldiers trying to get through. He was reluctant to attack head on again, as many more would die. Instead, he ordered his troops to stand down and wait for the barrier to fall. He was joined by Queen Myriam and Artas, both dressed in armor, ready to ride into battle.
“Do you sense that, Qutaybah?” Artas asked, reining his horse to stand by his side. “There’s a lift in the very air that we breath. It’s less gloomy with a brightness pushing through those clouds. I feel the tide is changing in our favor.”
“Yes,” the Vandemlander smiled back at him. “I feel it too. It’s definitely brighter, and look, the rain has petered out. Perhaps you are right, young Artas, and the reign of this impostor is over. I will feel happier when that wretched barrier comes down.”
“Patience,” Myriam interjected, “Grecia is as good as her word. If it can be done, she will find the witches and kill them. Of this, I am certain.”
“I hope you are right, m’Lady,” Qutaybah turned to speak with the young Palaran Queen. “I miss my home and I’m eager to return and hopefully celebrate that this is all over.”
“Me too, Qutaybah, me too,” she agreed.
***
Grecia and Torno followed close behind the wild wolves who had picked up the scent of the witches from their lands. Occasionally, they would stop and sniff at the air, as if they had lost the trail. Just as quickly, they would be off again, noses to the ground as they tracked down their enemy.
The wolves were the first to break into the clearing, quickly followed by Grecia and Torno. Her senses on alert, she quickly took in the surroundings. The clearing was a circular area, free of trees and bushes, and in the middle, a fire burned. Sat around the fire were a number of women chanting a verse over and over. Protecting them were two demons, heavily armed. Although taken by surprise at the sudden arrival of the wolves, they soon recovered and readied to attack.
Torno headed straight for the demons, while Grecia moved towards the witches. The creature that Torno had targeted was also surrounded by wild wolves. They snapped with their long canines at his legs as he tried to keep them away with his weapon. To no avail, as already his limbs bore the marks of the wolves, and rivulets of strange blood ran down his legs. He slashed at them with his sword, trying to keep them at bay. When he lost his footing, he fell to the ground. That was all they needed, and as one, the wolves pounced upon the prone body. They tore into its toughened skin, mouths snapping and teeth lacerating. The pitiful cries of the demon echoed around the clearing.
The other creature joined in the battle, focusing only on the wolves that surrounded his fallen companion. He slashed and hacked at the lupine creatures, completely oblivious to Torno’s presence. The wolf man used this to his advantage, and circled around the demon.
Crouching low to the ground, he hid himself in the long grass. Once in position, he leapt at the creature. Crashing head on into it, his paws raked down the demon’s back and gouged into the flesh. Jaws clamped around the creature’s neck, and he bit down hard. The demon shrieked and bucked, reaching behind to try and grapple the huge wolf on his back.
Torno held on with his long claws, his teeth sinking deeper and deeper into the demon’s tough skin. Despite its urgent attempts to free itself of the heavy wolf, his fight became weaker, as its life drained out of its body. Slumping to the floor with Torno still gripping it by the neck, until at last, it lay completely still.
The chanting human witches had put themselves in a deep trance, and failed to stir with the battle raging around them. Grecia watched them closely, focusing on the one in the middle, who seemed to be leading the chant. The wolf shaman leapt over the fire, crashing into the witch and knocking her onto her back with her throat exposed. Huge jaws soon clamped around the soft flesh, razor sharp teeth slicing through the sinew and windpipe. Gurgling sounds emanated from the woman’s throat as she breathed her last breath.
The death of the witch jolted the others from their trance, just in time to see the wolf pack charging down on them.
***
The combined forces of Palara and Vandemland prepared to advance. A cautious battle buzz made its way along the ranks, and the soldiers believed that events were turning in their favor. With the rains stopping and the gloom lifted, this could only be a sign that their world was returning back to how it should be. They marched forward with a sense of belief in their hearts, and a feeling that victory would be theirs. Qutaybah and Artas led their respective forces, and Myriam rode by Artas’s side.
As they streamed through the gap in the chasm towards the border, two things happened simultaneously. For the first time in weeks, the sun broke through the clouds, bathing the whole area in a warm yellow glow and suddenly, the barrier disappeared.
The demons were in disarray as they ran around shrieking at the sun’s burning rays. Stinking smoke filled the air as they searched frantically for shade. It was as if the sun knew what it was doing and it shone hotly from directly overhead. For the humans, it felt wonderful and refreshing.
Qutaybah and Artas, upon seeing the barrier disappear, ordered the charge to battle. At the same time, Palaran forces came streaming across the other side of the border. Demons were trapped between them both, and were soon overrun and crushed between the two forces.
This battle was almost over before it even began.
45
The streets of the royal city were strangely quiet; demons no longer roamed around at will. Sunshine flooded the whole city with a soothing warmth and brightness. This meant the troops pouring out of the Palaran ship were offered no resistance, and they were soon on the upper levels, joining the mercenaries and resistance fighters outside the palace.
Thalia’s demon army was quickly thinning out as the sunlight and the human fighters had taken their toll. Most were now holed up inside of the palace, hiding from the cold steel of the fighters and the burning rays of the sun.
Ganry searched for Thalia in the dungeon, but she was nowhere to be seen. She had disappeared, as if into thin air. Ganry knew that even with magic powers, she could not simply disappear. This could only mean that she must have taken one of the hidden passageways, leading elsewhere in the palace.
He was startled when Hendon and Azmariddian had suddenly appeared in the dungeon. At least now, he knew who had closed the portal. He was so pleased to see the young forest man, Hendon, he embraced him as best he could, given his injuries.
“Thank you, both,” he croaked. “You’ve saved the day. Never again will I make fun of your magic abilities.”
Hendon was taken aback by Ganry’s show of affection. He was normally a reserved and quiet man, but he said nothing and simply enjoyed the accolade.
Ganry finally released Hendon. “We must find that witch before she escapes.”
“I’ll come with you,” Hendon offered. “You may need me to finish her off. You’re not exactly in top condition right now.”
“You’re hurt quite badly,” Azmariddian said to Ganry, seeing the welts on his body from Thalia’s cruel fire whip. He took a potion from his bag and passed it to the warrior. “Take this, it will help with the pain. As soon as you’re finished with this battle, seek me out to heal those burns before they fester.”
Ganry drank the potion without thought. He needed to be without pain if they were to find and kill Thalia.
Azmariddian was exhausted from the closing of the portal. He could do no more, and stayed in the palace, making his way to the royal chambers.
Hendon followed Ganry, as he must help him find and battle the witch Queen. How he would battle her without the druid, he was unsure. But, battle her, he must. She could not stay in this world. As they attempted to track her down, he told Ganry that she was as mortal as any human. Should they slay her, her spirit would return to the underworld once again.
“That’s good to know, Hendon, but how will we better her powerful magic?” Ganry frowned, as he rushed up to the dungeon exit, entering a hallway. “She knows the ways of this city, from her lifetime spent in this world,” Ganry informed Hendon. “I suspect she’ll head for the underground waterways. We’ll meet her on the outside of the city. I know exactly where it comes out.”
The palace was quietening down, and they only came across a few wandering demons who were confused and panicked, and Ganry dispatched of them easily. They quickly made their way to one of the tunnels which led outside the palace.
Getting through the city was easier now, as most of the fighting was up on the palace level and the streets were deserted. Those who were not involved in the fighting hid in their homes keeping the children safe. Soon they were outside the city walls and climbing a steep road that led to the cave entrance of the underground river.
They settled down, hidden from sight, and waited for the appearance of the witch queen. After a few hours, Ganry was beginning to think that he had made a mistake, perhaps she had not come this way, or maybe she knew other ways that he did not know of.
“I’m staying here overnight,” he informed Hendon. “Once the city’s clear, I’ll have the army do a wider search. She can’t have got far,” he hoped.
Hendon nodded his agreement, and together both men kept watch.
The night passed by slowly, and they took it in turns to rest. One of them always kept a watch out for any movement from the river’s underground exit.
Ganry struggled to sleep, his wounds starting to pull and hurt. Azmariddian’s potion had helped, but it was wearing off. Finally, he managed to fall asleep, only to be awoken by a cold numbing pain running through his entire body. He lay there, motionless. Unable to move, and completely transfixed to the spot.
A dark figure loomed over him. Was it Hendon? Ganry could not talk, and his vision was blurred. He blinked to clear it, and could then make out that it was Thalia who stared at him. She had cast a spell on him, and no doubt, on Hendon too. He cursed himself for his foolishness. He should have stayed awake.
“I put a sleeping spell on you both, you fools. I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Thalia said to him, venom dripping from her words. “My hatred for humans increases tenfold every day. I will have this world, but you won’t be around to see my glory.”
Completely paralyzed, he could only breath and blink. There was nothing he could do to defend himself, and he lay there awaiting the final blow. Thoughts of his wife and child, whom he had lost years ago, came to the forefront of his mind. It was time to go and meet them again. A peaceful aura settled over him as he awaited his imminent death. His only regret was for poor Hendon. Had she killed him already?
He watched helpless as she lifted her arms and began an incantation. Now, the freezing numbness that had enveloped him, was replaced by a red hot fire. He felt as if his whole body would burst into flames. The pain was excruciating, but Ganry knew it would soon be over.
She stood with her back to the cave entrance, and through the tears of pain in his eyes, he could see a dark shape rising. It must be her loyal beasts, come to feast on his body. Yes, she would enjoy that.
She continued to chant her incarnation, evil words that spread hot fire through his very veins. Though his mind was at peace, his body suffered with the most excruciating throbbing pain. He wished only for it to end, before his head might explode with the pressure, and his eyes pop out of their very sockets.
A bolt of lightning surrounded Thalia, lighting her silhouette against the backdrop of the dark night skies. Was it her own trickery, to make her look even more wicked than the she already appeared? She turned her back to him, and his pain eased off a little. The heat in his body was not so intense, but his blood still felt like molten lava.
He could feel the tenseness of the atmosphere, for a storm had appeared from nowhere. In that storm rode a huge beast. Was it one of the monsters?
No, it couldn’t be.
It was attacking Thalia.
She screamed as she looked upon her own Asgwern, Canne. Upon his huge back sat two figures. One of them stood, arms stretched high in the air. Thalia could see him clearly, for around him glowed a light. It was that wretched albino boy who should be dead. Quickly she spat out an incantation to burn him, while he stood on the treacherous beast that hovered in front of her. Her magic should have ended his life. Instead, it backfired upon her own body, as it was repelled by the glow surrounding the boy.
Thalia flared into a ball of flame, so intense that Ganry could feel it on his hot skin. She screeched in agony as the fire consumed her. It completely incinerated her skin and bones, until all that was left was a pile of smoldering ashes.
Ganry felt a breeze on his cheeks as he slowly gained his senses back again. It was the flapping of wings, huge wings that wafted the cool air over him. Looking at the beast, he could see Cronos. The boy had killed the witch. The Emperor of Mirnee had come to save his kingdom, and had banished Thalia, back to where she belonged.
Ganry slowly sat up and spotted Hendon, who was just coming around from the world of unconsciousness. They were going to survive after all. Saved by a mere boy, but a very special boy, with the ability to keep their world safe.
***
The celebrations were much larger than his birthday one had been. Three kingdoms had come together to protect their world.
Cronos was saddened at the loss of his father, but he was ready to take his place as Emperor. At the ripe young age of ten years, his experiences in battle had aged his mind tenfold. With such good friends and neighboring allies, he knew he would be guided well. Torno and Rochmyr stood by his side, always. Grecia, the wolf shaman, had told him that his spirit guide would be visiting him soon, when he was rested and ready to move on.
Queen Myriam and Artas arrived in the royal city of Mirnee. Mainly, they had both wanted to see Ganry, and were relieved to find he still lived. The young queen also needed her close friends to rule her own kingdom, Palara.
Each kingdom might have their own cultures and beliefs, but now they had fought beasts from another world, they knew that they were as one. Humans needed to stick side by side, and this was the philosophy of the two new young leaders, who were ready to make their kingdoms peaceful ones.
About The Author
Jon Kiln writes heroic fantasy.
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Books by Jon Kiln
Blade Asunder Series
Mercenary
Guardian
Warden
Champion
Sentinel
Honor Bound Series
Forsaken
Betrayal
Dominion
Veiled Dagger Series
Assassin’s Quest
Assassin’s Shadow
Assassin’s Winter
Champion of the Gods Series
Gladiator
Wandering Knight Series
The Wandering Knight