Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (30 page)

He
managed to juggle the four apples easy enough, but his attempt to eat one of
the apples left him with a busted lip and sent his arms flailing as the
remaining apples sprawled in various directions. He eventually toppled into the
river to a chorus of hysterical laughter.

Jensen
smiled at the memory, but the smile died as soon as it began to be replaced by
tears. It was too painful to think of Brody, of Brenna and even Janna. Never
again would the four share that kind of laughter.

His
stomach gurgled again; he must eat. In the time since he had fled, he had not
eaten a proper meal. He had been living off berries mainly, which was far from
satisfying. He could not believe, given the hundreds of trees he had traversed
through that not one offered fruit to satisfy his hunger.

A
movement on the periphery of his vision caused him to turn and look at the
trees. A man crept through the trees, an arrow cocked in his bow as he fixated
on something in the distance. Jenson followed the man’s stare and saw a doe
grazing in the distance. He licked his lips at the sight. Maybe, just maybe, if
the man was successful, he might be persuaded to share some of his meat.

Jensen
regarded the figure as he stalked the deer. He moved elegantly, without making
a sound. He was tall even though he was walking in a crouch. His hair was
short, dark with flecks of grey. He had a strong jaw. The type heroes are
described as having in the bards’ tales. He was dressed lightly, a flannel
shirt and trousers, both jet black in colour and immaculate in appearance.

The
man paused and raised his bow, his breathing became steady as he closed one eye
and spied the deer with the other. He remained like that until his body hardly
moved. If he were dressed in grey, Jensen would have mistaken him for a statue,
such was his stillness. The deer chewed on the shrubs on the forest floor
oblivious to the hunter.

The
man released the arrow and a whooshing sound filled the air. The deer hardly
had time to lift its head before the arrow entered its neck. Two more arrows
entered its body in quick succession sending it crashing to the floor where one
leg jerked spasmodically for a few seconds before resting. Jensen had to double
check the hunter was alone as the arrows had been dispatched so swiftly.

The
man flung the bow over his shoulder and looked around. Jensen held his breath,
he was suddenly not so eager to be seen by the man. The man looked in Jensen’s
direction, but from the way his look swept the area, Jensen was sure he hadn’t
been seen. The man grunted and strode over to his prey, where he began
fastening the animal’s feet together. Jensen watched as he hoisted the carcass
over his shoulders with apparent ease and walked off in the direction from
which he came.

Jensen
looked back towards the treetops. Every instinct told him to leave the man
alone, he looked dangerous. His body, however, told him he was hungry and
desperately needed a decent meal. As Jensen stood, a dizzy spell overcame him,
causing him to lean on a tree to remain upright.
This is stupid, if the man
is as hostile as I think he is, then I am in no fit state to fight him.

Still,
the thought of a cooked meal encouraged him forward. The man was not hard to
find. Smoke swirled above the trees from where he had constructed a makeshift
fire on the ground below. He was expertly skinning the deer as Jensen
approached. To the side of him was the man’s horse, a huge black steed.

Before
Jensen could advance further, a hand clamped around his mouth and a voice
hissed in his ear.

“Stay
silent, unless you want to prove more of a fool than you are already.”

The
stench of sweat filled his nostrils as he tried to prise the grip away from his
mouth. He screamed in protest but it only came out as a muffled sound. In front
of him, the man flaying the deer paused and turned his head slightly in their
direction.
He knows I’m here.
The thought worried him more than the
imminent danger he was in.

“Quiet.
Back away with me if you want to live,” the voice said again. Jensen complied.
He backtracked farther into the woods, half dragged and half of his own
volition, until the deer hunter was out of sight. The last glimpse he saw the
man was him nodding to himself, as if making a decision not to act upon the
intruder.

As
soon as he felt the hand relax its grip, Jensen shrugged the hand off and
whirled round to confront its owner. To his shock, Maxhunt stood before him. He
looked tired, his clothes tattered and he smelt like he hadn’t washed in days.

“What
are you doing here?” he asked.

“Saving
your life. You are welcome, by the way.”

“By
starving me? I was only going to ask for some food.”

Maxhunt
snorted in response. “Do you have any idea who you were about to ask for a
snippet of food from?” Jensen’s hesitance answered the question. “I didn’t
think so. That man back there, was none other than the Cadaver Knight himself.”

Jensen’s
knees turned to jelly. Had he really been about to approach the most notorious
knight in Frindoth? What was he thinking? A bout of nausea rose up from his
stomach causing him to dry wretch.

“The
same Cadaver Knight who had just witnessed the only girl he ever loved
sacrificed to the Gloom. If you had bothered to look closer, you would have
seen tethered to his horse the tattooed severed head of the man who hanged her.

“I’m
guessing he is not in the best of moods right now and he certainly wouldn’t be
willing to share his food with the brother of the girl responsible for her
death,” Maxhunt said, and tossed a dried slice of beef jerky at Jensen, who
devoured it immediately.

“You
haven’t answered my question,” Jensen said, looking over his shoulder to make
sure the infamous Mikel Rhonson had not changed his mind and come after them.

“Son,
I’ve followed you since Longcombe.”

“Are
you that infatuated with my mother?” Maxhunt clenched his fists at the remark.
That
upset you, didn’t it, you obsessive prick.

“There
was a time when me and your mother was betrothed.”

“Long
ago, maybe. What I can’t understand is why you still can’t get over the fact
that she left you for my father?” Jensen said, picking his teeth. His hunger
had not been satisfied, but at least his stomach was no longer rumbling.

“You
know little, son.”

“I
know what I see. A sad man who once had it good but can’t accept he was always
with a swan when he was no more than a duck at best,” Jensen said.

He
was raised to hate Maxhunt purely because he was his father’s enemy, but even
without his father’s influence, he could see himself hating this despicable
man. Everything about him oozed unpleasantness from his permanent sneer to his
yellow teeth, Jensen had never seen him do a nice thing for anyone.

“Maybe,
but sometimes even the swan prefers the company of the ducks.”

“I
beg to differ. My mother chose my father because he is three times the man
you’ll ever be,” Jensen said. Regardless of whether Maxhunt had just saved his
life or not, he was not about to start pretending he was friends with this
loathsome dog.

“If
that were true, why aren’t you by his side now?”

Jensen
sneered at him. Even in the middle of nowhere, Maxhunt was still up to his
little games, trying to place wedges in family ties and breed uncertainty. He
shook his head and brushed past him.

“Son,
wait, I did not find you to fight with you,” Maxhunt said. Jensen whirled to
confront him.

“Why
do you keep calling me son? What do you want from me?”

Maxhunt
looked to the sky and bit his lip.

“Because
I think I might be your father.”

There
was a pause before Jensen laughed at Maxhunt and turned and walked away.
Maxhunt caught up to him immediately and spun him around.

“Shout
at me, question me, but do not ever laugh at me. Not about this,” he said.

The
earnest tone in his voice took Jensen by surprise. Maxhunt dug his fingers into
shoulders as he spoke. The pain made him angry. He flung Maxhunt’s hands off
and shoved him away.

“Enough,
I don’t know what you want from me, but I am not interested. I have no desire
to put up with your drivel.”

Maxhunt
drew his sword and raised it to Jensen’s face. Jensen immediately responded by
reaching for his own weapon.

“Relax,
I am not going to attack you,” he said and turned the blade sideways so it was
level with Jensen’s face. “Look into the blade at your reflection and tell me
what you see.”

Jensen’s
hand remained on his sword, but he relaxed his posture slightly, curiosity
taking over his instincts. “A handsome man in need of a shave?”

Maxhunt
smiled, “In need of a shave yes, but what colour is your stubble?”

Jensen
knew instantly where Maxhunt was going with this line of questioning. Ever
since he grew facial hair, much to his chagrin, flecks of red hair sprouted
amongst his stubble. It was something that had both appalled and fascinated
him.

“It
means nothing, Maxhunt,” he replied. Maxhunt shrugged and sheathed his sword.

“Maybe not, but have you ever wondered why you were so quick with
your temper? Not a characteristic you share with Rhact, is it? Maybe it’s
because he is not your father?” Maxhunt said. As he spoke, he stared intensely
at him. Jensen could feel the anger welling up inside him, the uncontrollable
urge to lash out.
Don’t play into his hands. Control yourself.

“That
is a lame attempt even from some ditchdigger who has never heard of a bar of
soap.”

“Ah,
a cruel jibe, intended to upset me. Another thing we have in common, that you
do not share with your father.”

Jensen
could feel his cheeks becoming red. It took all his willpower not to clench his
fists.
Walk away, just walk away
.

“Suddenly
you are not so sure, are you? The more you think about it, the more you realise
it could be true.”

“Don’t
flatter yourself,” Jensen said, trying to keep his face neutral.

“When
Rhact came to Longcombe with that idiot in tow, they came full of stories and a
sense of adventure. They were two men that had defied their families and set
out to explore the land. A romantic daydream, so many of us have dreamed of. No
wonder your mother was attracted to him. He was a mysterious man that offered
excitement away from the humdrum of town life in Longcombe. Why would she stay
with a ditchdigger, as you so elegantly put it?”

Jensen
stood rigid listening to him. He wanted to get away, but his body refused to
move, captivated by the lies and concoctions the man in front of him was weaving.

“Imagine
your mother’s disappointment when she discovered the lovable rogue she had
settled down with turned out to be far from exciting. In fact, possibly more
boring than everyone else. I mean, a candle maker, of all professions. Could
you get more mundane?”

“Careful,
fool, that is my father you are talking about,” Jensen said.

“But
is it, though? Your mother, upon realising her mistake, came to me in a fit of
despair, desperately apologising for leaving me. She was drunk, all right, I
have no illusions about that, but she did seek me out and we did enjoy one last
night together, for old times’ sake.”

“You
lie.” The protest sounded weak even to his ears.

“I
can promise you, I don’t. Ask Rhact if he knew where your mother was, the night
the Green Stag had its fire.”

Jensen
had heard of this story, Rhact and Mertyn were supposed to have saved the inn
by rushing into the flames and beating the fire out. They had been stupidly
brave which they put down to being drunk out of their skulls. Apparently, his
mother and Tyra were so appalled at their recklessness they did not talk to
them for a week.

If
they were drunk that night, would it be inconceivable that his mother was too?
A million thoughts raced through his head. Every decision that his father had
made and he’d disagreed with, failing to see the logic in his decisions. The
way he had been willing to betray his best friend and leave Frindoth to the
wrath of the Gloom. All of the arguments they had, all raced through his head
now. With such differences of opinion, was it inconceivable that they were not
father and son?

He
sat down and put his head in his hands.
This is all too much. I can’t cope
anymore
. He felt Maxhunt sit next to him and put his arm around his shoulders.
He wanted to shrug the arm away, but was surprised how comforting it felt. The
weight of it felt strong and protective. When was the last time Rhact had done
that?

Jensen
thought back to when Rhact had twice struck him across the face. Did he really
deserve to be hit for coming in late? He used to have a good relationship with
him, but lately, even before all this business with the stones, they were
growing apart. Could that have anything to do with what Maxhunt was saying?

Jensen
was suddenly very weary. He allowed himself to lean against Maxhunt. He did not
want to think about anything and did not even care to protest when Maxhunt
said, “Everything will be better now, my son.”