Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (19 page)

“In
one particular town, the mayor and all the townsfolk unanimously swore a pledge
to Vashna and greeted him as royalty. To demonstrate that he could not abide
sycophants, Stasiak made an example of the mayor.” Guynor paused and winced,
although this time more from memory rather than any physical pain. “Stasiak
hacked the mayor to death with a blunt dagger, only stopping when Vashna
ordered his men to pull Stasiak off of the corpse. Even then Stasiak was too
consumed with bloodlust and killed one of his own men for disturbing him.

“Finally, Vashna
arrived in Eurthriam.” Again Guynor stopped his tale to
compose himself. Jacquard had already learned from the war council that Vashna
had sacked the Eurthriami, something the Yurisdorians had failed to do in
hundreds of years. Guynor turned to Ryio the Laughing Knight, “Water?”

Jacquard
didn’t notice the young knight holding a cup in his hands and watched as Ryio
put the drink to Guynor’s lips. Guynor swallowed painfully before continuing.

“We
had concealed ourselves amongst the dunes, where we were close enough to
witness the events that unfolded, although I wish to the Tri-moons that I never
had. Vashna arrived outside the walls of Gangorn and demanded they swear fealty
to him or die. The Eurthriami laughed behind their walls and encouraged Vashna
to do his best. Vashna smiled at their response and the next day returned with
all of his men, Stasiak leading the attack.”

Again
Guynor fell silent, this time Jacquard saw a solitary tear escape his swollen
eye. Jacquard looked at his knights. They were captivated by Guynor, their
faces all displayed the same fear he felt himself. Longshaw shifted from side
to side. Even Isiah, known affectionately as “the Heartless Knight” due to his
inability to show emotions, chewed on the inside of his mouth. Guynor began
speaking again.

“I
have never seen a slaughter like it and by my mother’s grace I never wish to
see anything like it again. They did not spare anyone, my lord. Stasiak was the
worst, ordering his men to rape all the women, whilst their husbands and sons
watched.

“He
then amputated their arms and encouraged them to best him in one on one combat,
laughing at them and thrusting spears into them as they charged at him.
Finally, Vashna chopped off their heads and ordered them …” Guynor trailed off,
he seemed lost in the memory, the other knights glanced uneasily at each other.

“He
ordered them to be placed on spikes as a warning to others,” Althalos
whispered, finishing the sentence for him. Guynor shook his head.

“He
did, but not before he got his men to slice the heads in two, vertically down
the middle. He then commanded the women to flip one side up the other way and
sew the two halves together again.”

Several
of the knights gasped. Paule, who had been in the middle of stitching a long
cut in Guynor’s arm, stopped what he was doing and stared at him.

“Why
in Frindoth would he do such a thing?” Paule asked, forgetting his place. The
intrusion went unnoticed.

“Vashna
said it was to illustrate how different the west and east were and that he was
turning Jacquard’s world upside down.”

“The
bastard will rue the day his parents met. Piss on him and all that follow him,”
Ryio said.

Jacquard
was appalled at what he had heard. How could Vashna, a man who had sat at his
war council so recently, have turned into this savage beast he was hearing
about? How was he even going to defeat him? He could see the same question on
all of his knights’ faces. Jefferson looked just as perplexed.

“What
happened to you and your men?” he asked.

“As
soon as the heads were placed along the wall, the women were executed and the
children recruited, to be brainwashed into joining him. I waited until
nightfall and then ordered my men to sneak away to report back. Stasiak was
waiting for us.

“No
sooner had we returned to our horses than we were surrounded. Stasiak himself
took it upon himself to torture me. Opening up a cut and then flinging sand in the
exposed flesh. I have never known pain like it, until he held a searing poker
up to my eye and burned it out of the socket.

“He
told me that he was going to leave me alive, so that I could report back to
Lilyon and make them aware of the horror that was about to befall them. I
passed out from the pain. When I awoke, I found myself on the border of Shangon
and the Vale. I have been wandering back to you ever since. I was the only one
spared and in comparison to the others I got off very lightly.”

By
the time he had finished the story, Guynor was openly weeping from his good
eye. He was not the only one.

“Rest
now, Guynor. Vashna will pay for the atrocities he has committed, I give you my
word,” Jacquard said.

Guynor
nodded deftly and then slipped into unconsciousness.

*
* *

Jacquard
stood at his favourite spot on the tower looking over Lilyon. He thought of the
last time he had stood here and Jefferson had told him that Althalos had
received the stone. Despite the devastating news, his troubles were only just
beginning. He could not work out why Vashna had chosen to go against him. He
had always been aware of the man’s darker side in battle, but would never have
guessed he was capable of the events Guynor had described.

It
had been one day since Guynor had returned. The physician believed he would
survive his injuries, although he doubted very much if he would ever be well
enough to saddle again. Jacquard did not want to even contemplate the thought
of replacing him. Guynor was without a doubt his most loyal knight.

He
had chosen nine men over the years to protect Lilyon. They were not as savvy or
as successful in battle as the warlords, but they were good men and had all
proved their worth over and over. He would have to find Guynor a post that
could still utilize his experience without him feeling like he was being pushed
aside. He had already made that mistake once with Ulric von Coolidge.

The
sound of footsteps climbing the stairs behind him pulled the king from his
thoughts. It was the same boy that had fetched him from his room yesterday. He
looked a lot smarter today, although he was out of breath from the stairs.
Jacquard waited for the boy to collect himself.

“He
is here, my lord,” he finally said.

“Good,
send him up,” Jacquard said.

“Consider
me sent,” a voice said from the stairwell.

Iskandar
loomed into view. The boy looked at Jacquard in alarm and was about to
apologise to his king when Jacquard stopped him and alleviated his fears.
Relieved, the boy bowed and hurried down the stairs.

“I
do wish you would at least pretend to observe the courtesies of my palace,”
Jacquard said. Iskandar waved the notion away.

“There
is no time for pomp and ceremony,” Iskandar responded.

He
had been hoping to find Iskandar in one of his more frivolous moods. Instead
the old man seemed to be all business today. He looked a lot older than when
Jacquard had last seen him about six months ago. He knew not to be deceived by
his appearance, though. Unlike the boy, Iskandar was not out of breath.

He
was wearing his famous maroon cloak and carried a scrap of parchment in his
hand, which he unravelled on the battlements. He beckoned Jacquard to have a
look. Disappointed by the lack of pleasantries, Jacquard sighed before
obliging.

The
Ritual was two weeks away and he had invited Iskandar to go over the
arrangements. The two had known each other ever since Jacquard was young. They
were not exactly friends but the two generally got along, due to sharing the
same opinions on how Frindoth should be ruled.

Jacquard
only ever saw Iskandar when there was something to discuss. Usually when
Iskandar had learnt some news of interest on his travels, or if the position of
the moons predicted trouble ahead. Jacquard didn’t comprehend the work of the
Order, but as Iskandar was right more often than not, he had come to trust his
judgement.

Iskandar’s
intentions were noble and he had no interest in ruling Frindoth, and so
Jacquard granted him audience whenever he requested it. The only downside to
these meetings was the sight of Iskandar meant there was often a problem in the
kingdom.

The
parchment displayed the layout of the city square where the Ritual was to take
place. They had gone through the same process twelve years ago. The Ritual was
simple. Iskandar would collect the stones from the twelve unfortunate souls
selected. The twelve would then be asked to go to the gallows, where they would
have a noose positioned around their necks and a box placed under their feet.
This was a preventative measure. If any of the twelve tried to flee at the last
moment, they would effectively hang themselves.

Iskandar
would then climb the tower the two men now stood on and throw the stones into
the Ritual pool located directly beneath it. The pool was extremely shallow and
the base was slanted so the stones slid down the tiles underneath into a narrow
channel that led to a series of gullies. These twisted and turned before
depositing the water into a fountain in the city square.

The
stone that reached the pool of the fountain first indicated who was to be
selected for the sacrifice. The remaining eleven stoneholders were then cut
down from their nooses and allowed to leave or join the other morbid onlookers
in watching the Gloom devour the unlucky soul that was left.

The
Ritual had been conducted in this way for centuries, it was Gregorian that had
dramatised the Ritual and turned it into a spectacle, by building Lilyon around
the fountain.

The
last Ritual, Jacquard was ashamed to admit, was the highest attended since
records began. Earlier in the year, Jefferson had suggested they erect a stand
for the spectacle, an idea Jacquard had angrily refuted. However, he
reluctantly agreed to the proposal once it was clear it was safer to have the
majority of the crowd seated than standing. Still, in a final act of defiance,
he had refused to oversee the stand’s construction. He noticed Iskandar had
included the stand in his plan.

“It
is becoming more and more of a festival as each Ritual passes,” he said,
shaking his head at the huge rectangle on the parchment.

“We
cannot stop human nature,” Iskandar said. “As a people we are drawn to blood,
we revel in seeing other’s misery.”

“I
don’t!” Jacquard said indignantly.

“You
are an exception to the rule. That is why you do in fact rule,” Iskandar said,
chuckling on his own little play on words.

Disgusted,
Jacquard looked over towards the new stand. He was loathe to admit it, but it
did look spectacular. He was told it could accommodate ten thousand large men
comfortably. The walls along the back of the stand and at the side had
elaborate carvings of various scenes throughout Frindoth’s history: the siege
of Lilyon and the great battle of the Gomorrian (now Luciana) amongst others.

“Are
all the preparations in place?” Jacquard asked, shaking his head sadly.

“All
is ready, my lord. During the next few weeks, the Order will be arriving with
the stoneholders,” Iskandar paused before continuing carefully. “I heard
Althalos received a stone. I’m sorry.”

“Thank
you. He is being very brave. Far braver than I think I could have been at his
age.”

“He
is a credit to you, my lord,” Jacquard nodded, he appreciated Iskandar
addressing him properly.

“Did
you know?”

Even
as he asked the question, Jacquard knew the answer to the question. He had
asked Iskandar before if the Order knew who was selected by the stones.
Iskandar had been evasive but had revealed they knew where the stones were
located almost down to the house. Jacquard could not stand the pity in
Iskandar’s eyes and turned away.

“I
knew it was located in the royal quarters, but beyond that? No, no, I did not
know. I’m sorry there was no way to warn you,” Iskandar said softly. Jacquard
nodded, it was the answer he had been expecting.

They
were interrupted by the cursing of someone climbing the stairs. A tall man with
a hard face emerged and hurled a large object bound in white sheets off his
shoulders onto the concrete floor before slumping against the doorway.

“Jaegal?”
Iskandar said in disbelief. Jacquard recognised him as a member of the Order.
He did not know him well but on the few occasions they met, the king had found
him to be rather unpleasant.

“We
have a problem,” Jaegal said.

Cody Ramsay
looked at the vast white walls of the city. He had only been to Lilyon twice
before. He hated the hustle
and bustle of the crowds and
the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia imposed by the many buildings.

“You
hoping to get a glimpse of the Gloom then?” the stable boy asked.

He
was a young lad, no more than nine birthfeasts by Cody’s reckoning. His blond
hair hung scruffily in long bangs, covering his eyes in places.

“Not
if I can help it,” Cody said, causing the boy to frown.

The
owner of the stable, a chubby man with a boyish face, came over and ushered the
stable boy away with a kick at the boy’s legs. His name was Tiago and Cody did
not like the way he behaved. He made a mental note to come back and teach him
some humility. The man turned his attention to Cody and immediately put on his
best smile that reeked of falseness.

“I
know someone that can get you front row seats if you pay the right price,”
Tiago offered.

“Just
do as I ask, if I return and this horse is not in the same condition as I’ve
left her, I will burn the stable down,” Cody said.

Tiago
bristled at Cody’s response. He thrust his chin out and put his hands on his
hips.

“I
can assure you, sir, that this is the finest stable in Rivervale. It may be
expensive but it is worth every coin. Manners, on the other hand, cost nothing,
and I can’t say I approve of your demeanour.”

Tiago
stopped as Cody grabbed his shirt with one hand and drew his sword, holding the
blade under his chin. All of this was done in the blink of an eye. Cody watched
as the man’s eyes expanded in fear.

“That
will be all, thank you. You can leave now,” he said. Tiago nodded and skulked
away.

Cody
walked over to where Silverspeck had been tethered to a stall in the stable. In
truth, the place was immaculate, everywhere had been scrubbed clean and the
straw was fresh and bountiful. The building even smelled pleasant, free of the
manure smell that lingered around most stables. He had no hesitation in leaving
his horse here.

 Silverspeck
whinnied a greeting. She hated being tied up, but had offered no protest when
the stable boy had led her away. She was almost human in her understanding. He
stroked her mane and whispered softly in her ear. Silverspeck nuzzled his hand
in response.

“Wish
I could take you with me, girl, but Lilyon is no place for a beautiful animal
such as yourself,” he said. Cody smiled as the horse snorted a retort. “You’ve
been the best friend I could have hoped for. If I don’t come back, you make
sure you get yourself a good owner.”

For
a while, Cody was overcome with emotion. He lay his head against the mare.

“Well,
there is no point putting off the inevitable,” he said. He patted the horse one
last time and then slung his backpack over his shoulder and exited the stable
without looking back. Behind him Silverspeck raised herself up on her hind legs
and whinnied loudly.

*
* *

Jonas
sat proudly beside a flustered Master Rankton. He could not understand why his
boss was so upset over the purple treasure rock. When he had got back from the
well, he confessed straightaway to his master. He had explained how he had not
meant to steal it and had offered to hand it over immediately.

Master
Rankton’s reaction was most peculiar. He had shrunk away from the treasure rock
as if it was poisonous, which of course it wasn’t (even Jonas knew that). He
then demanded that Jonas recall the story of how he found it before sending
Jonas to help in the kitchen whilst he figured out what to do.

His
master had come and found Jonas later on in the day and had asked him to walk
with him. This had surprised Jonas and he fretted he might be in trouble.
Master Rankton, however, began to tell him a story about ghosts and ghouls. He
had uttered some nonsense about a ceremony and the mysterious shadow, the Gloom
or something. Jonas had laughed at him, believing that Master Rankton was
playing a game. He hooted as Master Rankton tried to impress upon him the
seriousness of the situation and how much danger Jonas was in.

Monsters, indeed!
Jonas
thought. He was not going to fall for any of that claptrap. Still, as they rode
in the wagon, Master Rankton had remained visibly upset and Jonas had become
more and more confused.
Surely he was taking the joke too far now?
It
was obvious that Jonas didn’t believe a word he was saying. No sir-ee.

Never mind
, Jonas thought,
he
can carry on the joke for as long as he likes, old Jonas is having a grand old
time seeing the sights
.

Frindoth
was truly a magnificent place. He loved how the flowers changed colour the farther
they travelled and how he was hearing for the first time the different animals
calling to each other. Only this morning they had seen a moose. Jonas chuckled
to himself, why would anyone name an animal after the noise a cow made. He had
delighted in saying the name over and over all morning, “Moooooooose … Mooooooose.”
Master Rankton had finally told him to be quiet.

“Please
try to understand, Jonas, this is very serious,” Master Rankton tried again.
His normally red face was grey with worry.

“Now,
sir, you can stop making fun of old Jonas, if it please ya. I may be slow but I
am not buying what yous are selling,” Jonas said.

“WHY
CAN’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOU COULD DIE!” Master Rankton screamed. Jonas
jumped. Master Rankton had never shouted at him before and he didn’t like it.

“Please,
boss, I am not liking this game anymore. Please stop,” Jonas said, trying to
look as serious as he could to show he meant it. Master Rankton’s face
immediately softened. He gave a frustrated sigh and apologised. They continued
in silence for a while.

 “Moooooooose,”
Jonas said aloud and giggled to himself again.

*
* *

Frendel
Cobal was biding his time. He was been escorted to Lilyon in a guarded
carriage. His hands were bound in manacles behind his back chained to a metal
plate on the floor. He had been working on the lock since the journey began.

Velvet
curtains blocked out most of the sun, letting in only a slither of light where
they joined in the middle. Frendel knew the shades were drawn not to prevent
him from seeing out, but so that others could not witness what went on inside.

When
the city guards found him, they were prepared to mete out their own form of
punishment. It was only the captain that prevented them after seeing the stone.
He had cursed Frendel and thumped him over the head with the hilt of his sword.
The next thing Frendel knew, he was in this carriage.

Across
from him sat a laconic guard who stared at him for the whole journey. Frendel
eyed the crossbow in the guard’s hand. The man’s finger was poised on the
trigger. The weapon was your standard model issued to the guards of Serbaton,
made from elm and coated in glue that gave it a shiny new appearance. The guard
had maintained the mechanism well.

The
guard noticed Frendel looking at the bow, and turned it so that the cocked
arrow was pointed at Frendel’s face. He raised his eyebrows in an amused expression.
Frendel snorted at the guard’s bluster.

“I
can smell the apprehension oozing out of your pores,” Frendel said.

“Is
that so?” the guard replied.

“Definitely.
Why else would you be holding that crossbow as if your life depended on it?” he
sneered.

As
he spoke, he twisted the pick in the lock and heard a satisfying click as the
manacles unlocked. The guard was too intent on replying to notice.

“Maybe
I am just waiting for you to give me the slightest excuse to use it,” the guard
said. Frendel flexed his hands behind his back, relieved to be free.

“Is
that why they left you alone with me? Your itchy trigger finger? I know you
can’t kill me because of the stone, but I have no doubt you intend to give me a
savage beating. I suppose the other twenty guards outside are waiting for you
to tell them the deed is done?” he said.

“Don’t
flatter yourself. You are only considered important enough for three other
guards,” the guard said.

Frendel
looked at the man and beamed. The guard smiled back, unaware of his mistake. So
there were four of them all together. This was going to be easy.

*
* *

Ulric von
Coolidge kept his head down and the hood covering his face as he travelled
along the main road. The traffic had become busier as he approached Lilyon. He
had expected this, b
ut with four days still to go,
not to this degree. Hundreds of people were making their way along the main
road to the White City, all of them talking excitedly about the same thing—the
Ritual. For many, this was not only the first time they might glimpse the
Gloom, but was the first time that they would have seen Lilyon.

Ulric
urged his horse off the road and ascended a small hill. For the first time that
day, he lowered his hood and allowed the sun to touch his face. He basked in
the warmth briefly before covering his head again. Even though he had been away
for many years, he was sure people would recognise him. After all, how many men
could there be with an eye patch and silver hair?

He
looked towards the North gate. Already there was a long queue of people waiting
to be granted permission to enter the city. Ulric knew they were all being
searched for hidden weapons. Normally, this would not have been an issue, but
on the day of the Ritual, weapons were not allowed in case anyone foolishly
took it upon themselves to attack the Gloom and risk incurring its wrath.

The
towers all had their flags raised, representing the twelve lands of Frindoth.
Despite, his hatred for people, Ulric could not help but admire the beautiful
city. The smell of spices, meat and even ale wafted over the walls.

The
setting brought it all back to him. The last time the Ritual took place he had
been a knight of King Jacquard. On that occasion he had not seen the Gloom.
Instead he had offered to police the gates. He did not share in the morbid
interest to see the beast that terrorized Frindoth.

That
day a young girl had been selected and devoured. Ulric could not get over the
transformation in the people that passed him at the gates. They entered, much
like they were doing now, full of excitement and anticipation as if they were
going to see a play or an arena fight. When they left, though, the mood was
completely different. They shuffled out, looking sullen faced and remorseful, witnesses
to a spectacle they wished they had never had seen. Whereas the din on their
arrival had been deafening, upon departure they were hushed and the mood
sombre.

He
looked down at all the people travelling now. Even up on the hill, their voices
reached him; it sounded like a swarm of bees droning around a honey tree. They
had no idea their lives were about to change for the worse. They would forever
remember the Ritual for all the wrong reasons, awakening in the night with the
screams of the poor unfortunate victim selected. Maybe his screams!

As
he descended the hill, he thought of seeing Jacquard again. He had gladly
served the bastard up until four years ago. The last time they had spoken he’d
told Jacquard that if he ever returned to Lilyon, it would be in a casket. He
acknowledged the irony as he queued up for the possibility of his death.

*
* *

Anastas
was devastated, a complete and utter emotional wreck. At first she was unable
to comprehend the significance of the stone Master Worrell had held up in front
of her. It was only Ghorum’s terrified reaction as he dropped to his knees and
let out an anguished howl that prompted her memory.

Of
course it was the Ritual. It was all Mikel had been talking about during his
brief visits recently. As a knight of the realm, he was required to supervise
the Ritual and be on hand in case the Gloom attacked anyone other than the
chosen one.

She
had been too dumbfounded to move. She didn’t deserve this; today was supposed
to be the day all of her dreams came true.

“Shall
we go and meet your knight in shining armour, my dear child? I am sure you will
want to tell him your news. I can see why they call him the ‘Cadaver Knight’
now,” Master Worrell had gloated.

He
stood in front of both of them, carelessly tossing the stone up into the air
and then catching it again. Anastas felt her blood run cold. She hated him, how
could anyone be so cruel? It appeared Ghorum felt the same way, as he charged
at his master yielding the first weapon he could lay his hands on—a frying pan.

Before he got to
him, though, two of Master Worrell’s bodyguards appeared out of nowhere and
wrestled Ghorum to the ground. Anastas was not even aware they were lurking
outside. She should have known better, though; Master Worrell never went
anywhere without his two brutes. Both were twice the size of him, their arms
bigger than their boss’s head.

Ghorum was
hauled to his knees as Master Worrell picked up the frying pan and faced her
friend. He was supposed to tower over Ghorum, but even on
his knees, Ghorum was nearly as tall as him. The sight would
have been almost comical if it had not been for the malevolent look in Master
Worrell’s eyes. Without hesitating, he cracked the pan across Ghorum’s skull.
Anastas screamed and rushed to Ghorum. He was motionless, a trickle of blood
flowed from his ear.
Please don’t let him be dead, please, please, please.