Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (33 page)

“My
apologies, my lord, I did not mean offense,” Theordon said, checking his throat
for signs of blood.

“Yes,
you did, but your apology is accepted all the same. I do not begrudge your
concerns. If I was in your situation I would no doubt feel the same,” Althalos
said.

The
soldiers relaxed slightly as Althalos walked fully into the light cast by the
fire. Now that the other soldiers were all standing, their faces were not so
illuminated. The light from the flames flickering on their faces made them
appear more hostile.

“Who
out of you is the best swordsman?” Althalos asked.

No
one answered him, but they all looked towards the man that had been lying next
to Terrie. It was all the answer the prince needed.

“What
is your name, sir?”

“Valrik,
my lord.” Althalos regarded the man. He looked lean but strong with a long face
and sharp features which ruined any chance he had of being handsome.
No
wonder you became a good fighter.

“Who
is the next best warrior?” he said.

This
time Dougnall stepped forward. Chin jutted  out, as if daring anyone to
challenge his claim. None did.

“My
name is—”

“Dougnall,
I know,” Althalos cut in. “I was observing you all a lot longer than you
think.”

Theordon
frowned as Althalos let the ramifications of the words sink in. If they had not
detected the prince’s presence, then already their estimation of him had
increased. Althalos could see the soldiers trying to recall their conversation
and ascertain whether they had said anything to incriminate themselves.

Several
other men emerged from the darkness, obviously alerted by Theordon’s scream.
Among them was Tulber: The Brimsgrove warlord seemed surprised upon seeing
Althalos. The prince ignored them all.

“You
are right to question my prowess in combat,” Althalos said. He spoke loud
enough so that the growing crowd could all hear him. “Valrik, Dougnall, it is
an honour to make your acquaintance. I would now ask you attack me as you would
a Yurisdorian warrior.”

There
were a few gasps from the audience; neither man moved.

“My lord,
I appreciate what you are trying to do, but these two really are formidable
opponents. There is no need to prove yourself,” Henrik said, the captain of the
group tried to assume some level of control of the situation.

“I’m
afraid there is exactly a need to prove myself and I am happy to do so.”

“Then
if you insist on this folly, might I suggest two other opponents,” Henrik said.

“In
war you don’t get to select your opponents. Surely experienced campaigners such
as yourselves should know that,” Althalos said as he smiled at Theordon. It was
a dig and a cheap one, but he was starting to enjoy the attention. Tulber made
no attempt to intercede and was looking at Althalos with disdain.
You want
me to fail. We will see, Warlord
.

Henrik
stepped forward but lowered his voice so only Althalos could hear.

“My lord,
I’ve heard of your skill with a blade in the palace courtyard. Our comments
were cruel to hear but they ring true. A courtyard is a million miles from life
and death situations,” he said.

“I
agree, but I am your prince and will one day be your king. I have given you a
command and I expect you to obey it,” he said, lowering his voice to match
Henrik’s and then louder, addressing everyone. “Besides, as I see it, it is a
win-win situation. If I am triumphant against these two fine men, then perhaps
some of you will be a bit more confident in my ability. If I lose, then your
concerns were correct and you get to pick a new leader, someone you all can
have faith in.”

By
now, there were perhaps as many as one hundred soldiers forming a close circle
around them. He looked around at the faces, all of them were watching closely,
some with a look of fear. If he was killed here tonight, they were witnessing
the event and might be brought to question why they did nothing to prevent the
situation. He noticed with a pang of disbelief some of the men were exchanging
coins, betting on the outcome.

This
was his chance to win them over. He looked at his opponents, they had not taken
up an attacking stance but they were on their guard, prepared for a fight. He
positioned himself between the two of them so they formed a triangle around the
fire. The fire was his only ally in this battle.

Valrik
took one look at Henrik who in turn glanced at Tulber. The warlord stroked his
goatee and folded his arms, before offering a curt nod indicating his assent to
proceed. Valrik took a deep breath before lunging at Althalos without warning.

The
blow was quickly delivered, but did not surprise Althalos. He had been
expecting such an attack and deflected it easily. The punch that followed,
however, was unexpected. It glanced off the prince’s cheek as he tried to duck
out of the way. Althalos staggered but importantly managed to keep his balance.
He was aware of one or two cheers from the onlookers and felt a surge of anger.
Before the prince could even think of locating where they were coming from,
Dougnall attacked.

The
self-nominated warrior did not bother using his sword but speared his body into
Althalos. All the air went out of the prince’s lungs and for a moment he saw
stars against the real stars in the sky. These were quickly replaced by the
ominous sole of Valrik’s boot hovering above his head. Althalos managed to
shift out of the way as the boot crashed down inches from his face.

Dougnall
was still on top of him, trapping his sword against his chest. The soldier was
punching him in the ribs, each blow stung more than the last.
A terrific
start, Althalos!
he thought.
If you don’t get this fool off you, this
fight will be the quickest in history.
He had not been expecting them to
fight so basically, but had little time to dwell on their aggressiveness as he
was vaguely aware of Valrik raising his sword to strike.

In
desperation, Althalos reached out with his free hand and grabbed a burning log
from the campfire and rammed it against Dougnall’s head. The strike sent a
shower of sparks through the air. The man grunted and fell off of him, causing
Valrik to divert the arc of his sword so he did not decapitate his friend.

Althalos
scrambled to his feet and winced as his hand registered the searing heat from
the log. He was also winded and struggled to get air into his lungs. Dougnall
stooped on all fours, shaking away the effects of the blow, but Valrik was
already advancing again.

This
time Althalos was ready. He met Valrik’s first blow well and countered with one
of his own. The two men exchanged a series of attacks with neither gaining any
real advantage, the singing of steel upon steel eching through the night air.

As the
two danced in their duel, Althalos managed to kick Dougnall in the gut before
the man could get to his feet. The soldier grunted and collapsed face down.
This produced much laughter from the spectators.

Althalos
and Valrik began to sweat heavily, the warmth from the fire taking its toll.
Althalos found that breathing began to get tougher. He needed to end this soon,
before Dougnall could recover.

The
leader of the army ducked as Valrik swung his sword over his head. Althalos
heard a whooshing noise that indicated how close the strike had been to gaining
purchase. He sprang forward in response, thrusting his sword at Valrik’s heart;
however, the seasoned soldier dealt with the attack easily, forcing both blades
to the side and to the ground.

 This
time it was Althalos who got his punch in, causing Valrik to cry out as the
singed tender skin connected with the swordsman’s nose. The punch left the
soldier momentarily dazed. Althalos did not hesitate and delivered a swift kick
to the man’s gut. He followed this closely with a knee to the face and then
swiped Valrik’s legs with a kick.

Before
he could follow up any further, Dougnall charged at him with his spear aimed at
the prince’s chest. Althalos sidestepped out of the way and tripped the
charging man so that he fell on top of his friend.

He
kicked the sword out of Valrik’s hand and placed his own on the man’s chin whilst
resting his boot on Dougnall’s back.

“Do
you yield?” he said.

Valrik
nodded and smiled.

“Get
off me,” Dougnall said and hastily got to his feet when Althalos lifted his
boot.

Althalos
looked around at the stunned audience. Terrie began to clap slowly, a huge
smile on his face. Althalos smiled back, grateful for the appreciation and for
the support the man offered earlier. One by one, the rest of the crowd joined
in until he was being applauded and cheered by everyone.

Valrik
was the most enthusiastic of the lot and extended his hand to Althalos.
Embarrassed, Althalos took it and acknowledged the crowd. Someone handed him a
flask of wine which he gratefully took. Soon everyone was patting him on the
back and he was hoisted in the air on men’s shoulders he had never even met.

The
only person who did not join in the applause was Tulber, who again stroked his
goatee, turned and then muscled his way through the crowd.

Jensen
sat opposite Maxhunt as he enjoyed a cooked breakfast of mushrooms and
pheasant. It turned out Maxhunt was quite handy with a bow and arrow. He was
not a bad cook either, Jensen reflected as he helped himself to a second plate
full of food.

Yesterday
had been confusing. Maxhunt was right, he was starting to question his origin.
The more he thought about things the more he had to concede it was a
possibility Maxhunt could be his father. His mind burned with questions he
wanted to ask, but a stubborn part of him refused to give Maxhunt the
satisfaction.
Was this his breeding, though?
He was brought up to hate
Maxhunt, after all. Maybe he was afraid of the answers.

He
looked at the man opposite him. He now seemed completely different to the one
he’d always known. Maxhunt hummed as he ate, he had washed and brushed his
hair. He now looked clean cut, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. The
malicious sneer that always seemed a permanent fixture on his face was replaced
with an easy smile. Confessing the truth to Jensen had lifted a great weight
off of Maxhunt’s shoulders.

Jensen
tried to tell himself he was just sticking with him out of convenience. At the
moment he was being fed and had company. However, the truth was, it was good
company. He was actually enjoying Maxhunt’s carefree attitude. It was so
different to Rhact’s.

Maxhunt’s
stories were not about responsibility, finding a profession or thinking about
the future. Instead they were tales of drunken antics and liaisons with whores.
He actually talked to Jensen like an adult, telling him sordid details of a
night he spent with a one-legged prostitute in Bendorin. Jensen had laughed out
loud despite himself as Maxhunt told how first he negotiated a discount because
she only had one leg and then later demanded his money back from the owner of
the brothel when he discovered the bed sheets covered in blood.

Maxhunt
had explained all brothel owners had a duty not to let their whores fuck when
they were visited by the red moon. When Maxhunt had left the brothel with a
full refund, he had discovered it had not been the whore’s blood after all, but
his own where he had split his foreskin.

Jensen
smiled again at the story. Rhact would have never told him a story like that.
Isn’t
that what fathers and sons are supposed to do? Share rites of passages like
that?
Rhact had always belittled Maxhunt’s profession as a ditchdigger,
saying it was the lowest form of work and required no intellect and skill.
However, Maxhunt merely described it as an easy means of making money to go and
buy drink and women. He did not see the point in working hard, money was not
important. Jensen could definitely identify with that attitude, it was another
thing they had in common.

“Can
I ask you a question?” Jensen said. Maxhunt stopped humming and gave Jensen his
full attention.

“Sure.”

“Why
are you such a scumbag? All my life you have come across as a bitter, insipid
little man, whose only aim has been to wreak misery upon others.”

The
question was out before he could retract it. He did not wish to provoke him but
needed to know the answer. Maxhunt merely smiled.

“I
guess it is because I am all of those things. Before Rhact came into my life, I
had everything I wanted. I had your mother and we were happy together. I was
respected around town too. When he arrived, I lost everything. Suddenly all my
dreams were shattered. I didn’t only lose the love of my life, but by being
bitter about it, I soon became the town outcast. I soon lost any sympathy
people had for me.

“I
handled the situation badly. Each day that passed, each month, year, I was
reminded of what I had lost. I turned everyone against me and I was too
consumed with rage to care. I couldn’t handle the injustice of it all.”

Maxhunt
finished talking but his mind was still back in the past, his eyes staring into
a time where things were different.

Jensen
tried to imagine the situation and found sympathy for the man. His life had
been ripped apart by a dashing stranger who turned out to be a fraud. A man
that was not glamorous, but just a mysterious visitor who offered little
excitement beyond the stories he brought with him. No wonder Maxhunt had
struggled to get his head around the situation.

“Why
didn’t you leave Longcombe?” he asked.

Maxhunt
sighed at the suggestion. He pushed his plate aside, no longer in the mood for
his breakfast.

“I
thought about it. Stubbornness prevented me, I suppose. Part of me thought, why
should I be the one to leave? In hindsight it was the wrong decision. I wasted
my life trying to exact vengeance and ruin Rhact’s life. When I had that night
with your mother and later learned she was with child, I knew I had to stay
around. I asked her if the baby was mine and she said she didn’t know.

“She
begged me not to say anything, she made me promise to leave her alone, that
regardless who the father was, it would be brought up by Rhact and be part of a
loving family. Like a fool, I agreed.” Jensen was surprised to see Maxhunt’s eyes
fill with tears. He wiped them away angrily and began clearing away the dishes.
“We should get going,” he said.

Jensen
remained sitting. He was more confused than ever. It was extremely hard to deny
the passion in Maxhunt’s words. Could his whole life have been a lie? If
Maxhunt was lying, he could not see a motive for doing so. Maybe it was true.
Rhact had gone out of his way to save Janna. Maybe he knew she was his one true
offspring. Maybe he could not stand the thought of losing her and being father to
a bastard.

If
he was truly Rhact’s son, then why wouldn’t Rhact comply with the Ritual, as
awful as it was, knowing he still had a son to love? Was it because the son
wasn’t his?

“I
believe you,” he suddenly said. Maxhunt stopped still, shocked by Jensen’s
words.

“You
do?”

“Yes,
I think I do,” Jensen said. He could not be sure what made him believe him,
every instinct told him not to trust the man. He was nurtured to stay away from
him, but somehow he believed Maxhunt was telling the truth.

Maxhunt
let out a stifled sob and then embraced Jensen. It felt good to be held and
Jensen returned the hug.

“Thank
you,” was all the man who had been a vicious stranger only a few days ago said.

*
* *

Rhact
examined the red ribbon. It was definitely Janna’s, with strands of her brown
hair entangled in the material. They were on the right path. They had been
tracking Janna for just under four days. Kiana was like a different woman now.
Gone was the woman that had been living in a dream world, replaced by the woman
he loved. Upon discovering Janna’s disappearance, clarity had washed over her
as if someone had pulled a blanket off her head. As each day had passed, he
expected her to fold under her grief, but she only became more resolved. They
had picked up Janna’s trail on the second day and it was this that was keeping
them focussed.

The
ground was solid underneath which left little trace of Janna’s footprints.
Rhact was no hunter but he was doing his best impersonation of one for the sake
of his and Kiana’s sanity.

The
first drops of rain began to fall. Any tracks his daughter would have left
would be erased in a matter of minutes.

“Kiana,
over here,” he said. His wife came stumbling out of the trees to his right.
They had decided to spread themselves as thin as possible to find their
daughter. His wife looked a mess, her face as pale as snow, looked haggard, with
large black bags under her eyes.

He
held up the ribbon so she could see. Her reaction was a mixture of happiness
and worry. Rhact was far more concerned, however, with the direction his
daughter was heading. The path led into Fankopar Forest. Once she disappeared
within those trees and the darkness engulfed her, not only would she be
extremely difficult to find, but who knows what lurked inside. If Rhact had a dozen
men with him, he would be reluctant to set foot inside those woods.

“She
went into Fankopar,” he said. Kiana nodded slowly and then set off purposefully
in the direction of the night forest.

The
forest had a definite starting point. All at once the trees changed. In a
matter of feet, the tall straight elms were replaced with ancient thick oak
trees. The trunks of which were all twisted as if they had been frozen in
contorted agony. The bark was as black as the night sky and sharp as rock.

As
the two of them entered, Rhact felt a definite change of atmosphere. The air
around him felt oppressive, as if they walked through a graveyard, unwelcome
and unannounced. From somewhere within the darkness a woodpecker hammered away
at a tree.

They
had only walked a few steps into the woods when daylight seemed to disappear,
as if someone had drawn a curtain behind them. Rhact glanced behind to reassure
himself that light still existed. They were not in pitch darkness. Rhact could
still see the general shapes of the trees up to about ten feet in front of him.
However, when he tried to make out any detail on the trunks, he found he
struggled. Without saying a word, Kiana’s hand found his.

They
had been walking for about half an hour when they heard a scream. It wasn’t a
shrill scream but muffled and it chilled his bones. Unmistakably it was his
daughter’s voice. It sounded like someone was covering Janna’s mouth.

Letting
go of Kiana’s hand, he raced towards the noise shouting out his daughter’s
name. His thoughts consumed only with reaching her. Branches clawed at his
face, leaving scratches that stung. More than once he stumbled over the gnarled
roots of a tree and fell against the trunk of another.

He
was vaguely aware of Kiana calling after him. After a while, he stopped to
listen for his daughter’s pleas.
I can’t hear her, why can’t I hear her?
Panic
began to overcome him. All he could hear was the sound of Kiana crashing
through the forest behind him. Suddenly his wife emerged behind him, virtually
bowling him over.

“You
mustn’t leave me like that,” she began to say. “If we get separated—”

“Ssssh!”
he said. “Listen.”

For
a moment they both stood there. The forest was silent. The leaves on the trees
were still as if they had been painted on and the wind did not affect them.
Hadn’t
it been raining?
There was no sound of the raindrops overhead.

“Father!”
Janna’s voice called out of the darkness.

“There,”
he said, pointing to his right, and sped off in that direction.

“Rhact,
wait,” Kiana said, following him.

As
he ran, he drew his sword. He squinted into the darkness, willing his eyes to
see more.

“Help!”
This cry was louder. He sprinted harder. Kiana had fallen behind now and he was
on his own. His only thoughts were of Janna.

When
he saw her, he slowed down. She was on her knees, her glowing hand lighting up
the forest like a torch. Three shadowy figures surrounded his daughter. One
held her from behind attempting to subdue her. It was difficult to tell but it
looked like his knee was in her back and he was holding her arms outstretched
behind her.

Of
the other two figures, one was pulling her hair back and saying something in
her ear, his white teeth the only thing visible on him. The third was rifling
through her pack.

Rhact
did not hesitate and charged the men. Barely breaking stride, he threw his
sword at the man whispering to her. There was a whooshing noise as the blade
rotated in the air and embedded itself in the man’s chest.

At
once the forest around him came to life. Dark shapes he thought were trees
suddenly moved. Men camouflaged against the darkness came at him. He ducked as
an object swung towards his head. The only reason he saw it was because it was
a darker shade of black than anything else in the forest. He rolled to the left
to avoid another man and lashed out at a third.

He
had almost reached his daughter. The man holding her threw her roughly to the
ground and picked up his own club. He stood there batting the end of it into
his other hand, ready to fight. The third man seemed uninterested in the combat
and continued to rummage through Janna’s pack.

Rhact
increased his speed, before the man could swing his club. He barrelled into
him. He felt the wind escape the man’s body as the impact surprised him. Rhact
was on his feet in seconds, kicking the man in the teeth, the only thing he
could make out in the darkness. The man grunted and fell, unmoving.

By
now the third man had got to his feet. Rhact retrieved his sword from the
lifeless body next to him.

“Janna,
get behind me,” he said. She obeyed without question.

Behind
the third man, more and more shapes emerged from the shadows, their smiles
showing floating teeth and eyes.

“Let
us go,” Rhact tried. He prayed that Kiana had the sense to stay away.

“I
think not,” one of the men said. Rhact looked at the shadows moving before him.
They were far too outnumbered. Their only chance was for him to distract them.