Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (31 page)

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Rhact
stared into the flames of their campfire. They swirled and crackled,
hypnotising him with their ferocity. Beside him, Kiana was asleep. He was
worried about her. Over the past few days, the life seemed to have ebbed from
her. Each day they spent looking for Jensen was another day her heart seemed to
break.

She
always seemed on the verge of tears. When she spoke it was to talk of all the
things they would do as a family when they went back home, as if living in some
make believe world where everything was going to be all right was the only way
she could continue.

Before
she fell asleep, she asked Rhact what would be his dinner of choice when they
got back home.

“I
know what Jensen will want, he will want roasted boar with thyme. That is one
of his favourites,” she said. Rhact had seen Janna’s wide-eyed stare and knew
his daughter was equally concerned about her mother

“I
don’t think we will ever be going back to Longcombe, my love,” he said.

“We
will,” she said, “you’ll see.”

Rhact
did not have the energy to argue and when she had asked him what food he would
want, he had told her he was looking forward to eating duck. The response had
satisfied her and she lay down next to him, closed her eyes and fell asleep
with a smile on her lips.

Janna
was sitting on the other side of the fire. She sat cross-legged and was
scratching a pattern into the dirt with a stick. He noticed she was crying. A
trail of tears had left white lines down her dirty face.

“You
should get some sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow we will be entering Fankopar Forest
and will need our wits about us.”

She
nodded in response but made no move to settle down.

“What
is wrong with Ma?” she asked without looking up from the pattern she was
making.

“Nothing.
She is just hurting right now, that’s all. She needs to believe that everything
will be all right in order to get through this. She will be fine in a couple of
days, you’ll see,” he said.

“You
speak as if you don’t believe everything will be all right,” she said.

He sighed
and went and sat next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. From within
the darkness an owl hooted.

“I’m
not sure it will, baby girl. We have to get somewhere safe, someplace no one
will find us.”

“What
about Jensen? We must find him.”

“He
is long gone, Janna. He is far fitter than any of us and we are travelling by
wagon. With his head start we have no chance of finding him, unless he wants to
be found.”

She
nodded but he noticed fresh tears begin to fall, darkening the soil between
them.

“Will
he be all right?” she asked.

“I
think so. Your brother is a young man now. Not only that, he is a resourceful
man. Remember when he got caught stealing Ellory’s potatoes,” Rhact heard her
chuckle at the memory, “your brother was found sneaking out of the cellar with
his trousers loaded up with enough spuds to feed a family for a week. Anyone
else would have held their hands up and admitted their guilt, but not your
brother. Jensen somehow managed to convince old Ellory that he had noticed a
nest of catermice next to the cellar and was rescuing the potatoes from
infestation. Soon, Ellory had organised half the town into transporting his
stock to a new location.”

“Ellory
ended up giving Jensen a sack of potatoes as a reward as well,” she said
laughing.

“That
he did,” he said and laughed himself. “I think with a silver tongue like that,
your brother is going to be just fine, don’t you?” She nodded her agreement.

They
stayed huddled together for a while longer, easy with the silence between them.
Janna fiddled with the bandage on her right hand. It had begun to itch and
needed to be changed. He had explained to her about her hand changing colour;
he hadn’t mentioned Marybeth though.

Vanity
had got the better of her at first. The thought of her hand being discoloured
for the rest of her life mortified her. What man would want to marry a girl
with such an odd deformity, especially with what it represented? Her pride soon
turned to fear, though, as he put on the bandage on her hand. She realised what
it represented. She was a fugitive, no one must ever know she was a stoneholder.
She could forget marriage and everything else that accompanied a normal life. Rhact’s
heart had gone out to her. The thought of the future she faced filled him with
sadness.

The
fire continued to burn fiercely, the warmth reaching every part of his body. He
shut his eyes and let himself enjoy the peacefulness.

“Father?”
she said, causing him to stir. He had been on the cusp of sleep.

“Hmmm?”
he replied.

“Would
it be easier if I turned myself in to the authorities?”

The
question woke him instantly. He was surprised at how quick to anger he was;
only moments before he had been feeling sorry for her.

“Definitely
not.”

“I
was just thinking, all of these deaths are because of me, if I gave myself up
then maybe they will stop?”

“I
am going to pretend I did not hear that question,” he said, removing his arm
from her shoulder.

“But
why?”

“Don’t
be so ungrateful. Do you have any idea what has been done for you? I’ve lied to
my best friend. His son, your friend, is probably dead because we have chosen
to keep you alive. There is a city full of corpses because we have given you
the chance of life. Jensen has run away because of the decision we have made.
And you want to throw that all away, by turning yourself in to be executed?

“Do
not ever, EVER, make all of those deaths in vain. You make sure you do
something good with your life now. You make this second chance count. Do you
hear me? Don’t make me regret the decision to keep you alive.”

“I
just thought—”

“What?”
he cut in.

“Nothing,
I’m sorry,” she said and turned away from him, lying down and covering her face
with her blanket. He could tell from the way it was shaking that she was crying
again and instantly felt bad.
Why did I turn on her like that? She is only a
young girltrying to deal with an impossible situation.

Frustrated,
he stomped over to the wagon and retrieved his own blanket. There was nothing
he could do to appease her now. He would apologise in the morning. He lay down
to sleep, his thoughts awash with his harsh words and wondering whether or not
Jensen was safe.

It
was true Jensen could look after himself, but he had never ventured too far
away from Longcombe. Frindoth was a huge place and a lot more frightening than
Jensen probably realised. As sleep overcame him, he prayed his son would be
safe.

It
was still dark when a hysterical Kiana shook him awake, speaking too quickly
and in a high-pitched shrill for him to understand. The fire had burnt down to
the embers, but other than that the camp remained the same.

“Calm
down, what is it, woman?” he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. His head
felt groggy and Kiana’s shaking did not help.

“Don’t
tell me to calm down,” she said. “Where is Janna? She’s gone.”

In
an instant he brushed aside his wife and was on his feet. He looked over to
where his daughter had been lying sobbing only hours before. There was no sign
of her or her blanket. However, in the dust there was a crudely scribbled
message. He ran over to get a better look, falling to his knees in front of it.
A feeling of dread filled the pit of his stomach as he read the note left for
him by Janna.

“GONE
TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT.”

Lilyon
had never seemed busier. The streets were alive again, bursting with energy.
Conversation filled the air whilst the clanging of hammer on metal and other
sounds of construction threatened to drown it out. Those that could trade had
already opened up their stalls for the morning, shouting their wares to anyone
that would listen.

Those
whose livelihood had been destroyed by the Gloom and fires were frantically
rebuilding their shops whilst their wives or children sold their products from
makeshift tables. In the centre of it all, a panicked horse caused a commotion,
parting the crowds as it ran through the streets pursued by its desperate
owner.

It
was chaotic, but Jacquard had never been prouder of the people within the city
walls. Just over a week had passed since the Ritual and already the people of
Lilyon were getting on with their lives. They refused to give in to the fear
and went about earning their living.

As
he rode through the streets on his horse, he observed the quiet determination
that appeared to have engulfed the city. These people would not be broken by
the Gloom, nor by the news of the imminent danger they faced from Vashna’s
invasion.

He
passed a man dressed in a tattered brown shirt and dirty trousers, advertising
a pallet of strawberries. Behind the seller was his shop, nothing more than
burnt timber and charred wood. Still, he stood as tall as his small frame would
allow and bellowed out his offers. Jacquard thought that the man was not so
bothered about selling strawberries but more concerned with letting the world
know, whatever disaster occurred, he would still be selling fruit.

He
angled his horse down a side street and was confronted with a message scrawled
across a wall in chalk.

“No
matter what is thrown at us we can take it.”

Two
women were scrubbing at the letters with soap and water. Defacing any property
warranted a severe penalty by law. It had been that way since Gregorian passed
the decree when building his beautiful city. Culprits caught under his reign
were sentenced to a year in the top level of the Pit. If they survived the
punishment, they rarely came out sane. Jacquard had always thought the
punishment severe, but as it served as such an effective deterrent, he saw
little need to change the law.

Upon
seeing Jacquard, one of the women squealed and began to scrub more frantically.
Her colleague startled at the noise, turned and stared at him in disbelief. She
then proceeded to drop her cloth and run down the street, knocking over her
pail as she did so. In an instant she was lost in the crowd.

“What
is your name, young lady?” he asked.

“Esmerell,”
she replied, turning to face him. She looked at him directly and curtsied. Her
body trembled, betraying her confidence. In her hands, the cloth dripped with
soapy suds.

“Well,
Esmerell, I appreciate your effort, but leave the message on the wall for all
to see.”

“My
lord?”

“I
kind of like what it says, don’t you?” he said. Esmerell nodded.

With
that, he handed a gold coin to Esmerell and thanked her again. The woman’s eyes
lit up at the generosity. She eagerly took the coin and was gone before the
king could change his mind. It was far too much for him to have given the
woman, but he only had gold coins on him and wanted to reward her efforts.
Jacquard watched her go and then turned his attention back to the message.

The
sounds of hooves clattering on the cobblestones caused him to look up. The
unmistakable figure of the Laughing Knight came bouncing towards him complete
with a broad smile. Jacquard had handpicked Ryio as one of his knights after
witnessing his exploits in a roadside skirmish five years ago.

He
had been on the way to visit the warlord of Rivervale to discuss implementing a
new tax law when a commotion on the road up ahead caused his party to stop.
Four burly men were attacking a skinny man, armed with nothing but a short
sword. The skinny man was of course Ryio, his crooked nose and long blond locks
instantly drawing attention.

He
could not get over how easily Ryio had fended off the four men who were far
bigger than him and laughed at them in the process. The four men had run away
when Jacquard and his knights had approached, leaving Ryio leaning on his short
sword so he was practically bent in half.

“Four
against one is hardly a fair contest,” Jacquard had said.

“No,
there should have been at least six of them,” Ryio replied. Jacquard had been
immediately won over by his jovial demeanour and offered him the chance to ride
with him and see how he fared.

Now,
as the Laughing Knight approached, his infectious smile still had the same effect.

“It
is not good news, my king,” Ryio said.

“Yet
still you smile.”

Ryio
shrugged, “We’re still alive, the worst hasn’t happened yet.”

“The
burnt man hasn’t been found?”

“Not
yet,” said Ryio shaking his head. He dismounted his horse and stretched. “From
what Althalos and Cody said, the chances are he’s dead.”

“I
agree, unfortunately, we cannot take any chances. Keep looking, check the
houses one by one, someone must know something,” Jacquard said. Ryio saluted
and led his horse away.

Jacquard
had spent the morning with five of his knights looking for the man Althalos and
Cody had described as saving the little girl. The others were keen to proceed
with the search for Jaegal, the ghost assassin and the three other stone
bearers that had failed to show at the Ritual, believing they were wasting time
searching for a man who was most likely dead.

Jacquard
had watched his son depart from Lilyon at first light, leading a column of
Jacquard’s army through the streets. Despite being nervous at the prospect of
commanding the army, Althalos had accepted the role.

He
initially voiced his concerns to Jacquard after the war council, questioning
whether or not he was ready for such a task. Jacquard reassured him and pointed
out it was easier to get the army to unite behind you in times of a crisis,
than it was when they were idle and had time to assess you. His son seemed to
accept this.

From
what the king had witnessed, the army was already prepared to follow Althalos.
Many of the men had observed the prince’s ability in the practice yard. Still,
Jacquard was under no illusions that his son faced a formidable task and wished
to find the stoneholders quickly so he could join his son in battle against
Vashna. The fact they had not even set out from the city yet made the king just
as anxious as his knights to be on his way.

The
burnt man was not the only reason they were delayed this morning. Iskandar came
to Jacquard and pleaded with him not to set off without Mondorlous. The giant
had sent a crow instructing Iskandar to await his return. He was supposed to
have arrived last night but there was no sign of him yet.

Irritated
that his actions be dictated by others, the king directed his horse on through
the streets.
I can’t even find a scarred dead man in my own city, how am I
going to find the other three stoneholders and the leader of the Order?
People gracefully parted for him as he rode amongst them. On a whim, he halted
his horse.

“People
of Lilyon,” he shouted out.

A
few startled people ceased what they were doing and turned to look at him. He
waited patiently as the silence spread amongst the crowded street.

“People
of Lilyon, you make me a proud king to walk among you. Your determination and
resolve epitomises the spirit of the city. As you know, the Ritual did not go
as planned, once again you have my apologies,” he paused, expecting a backlash.
To say the Ritual did not go as planned was a massive understatement. However,
the crowd looked upon him attentively. If he was not mistaken, they seemed to
have an edge of sympathy for his position. Encouraged, he continued. “For the
Gloom to be contained, it is very important we find the stoneholders. Last
week, four men escaped from the gallows, my son amongst them. My son and
another have turned themselves in, but they told me how a third heroically
saved a little girl from a burning fire.

“When
my son left this man, he was completely burnt and faced death. Someone must
know this man’s whereabouts. Alive or dead, it is of the utmost importance for
the safety of Frindoth that he is located. Do any of you know where he is?”

Silence
greeted his request. Everywhere he looked passive faces stared back at him.
They
look at me as if I’ve asked if they have seen a dragon with five heads.
“Four gold coins to anyone that can provide useful information as to the
whereabouts of this man.”

“It
is not the money, my king. There was a lot of burning people after the Ritual,”
a voice came from the crowd. Jacquard could not locate its owner.

“True,
but no one saw a man with my son rescue a little girl?” Jacquard tried to keep
the impatience from his voice. Again the crowd was silent.

“I
saw something,” a man emerged from a wrecked building. He wore green trousers
but was not wearing a shirt. His skin was tanned and toned and covered in the
unmistakable soot that only a blacksmith seemed to attract.

“Good
morning to you, sir, and may I have the pleasure of your name?” Jacquard asked.
He felt a slither of hope as the man approached.

“Denholme
Childes, my lord,” the man said and smiled to reveal two gold teeth beneath a
black moustache.

“Pleased
to make your acquaintance, Mr Childes. Can you tell me what you saw?”

The
man took a deep breath, suddenly aware it seemed, of the large crowd behind
him.

“I
saw the man you speak of with your son. Bravest thing I ever saw, if I do say
so myself. The man dived into the fire as if he were diving into a lake with no
thought of what the fire would do to him. The only thought running through his
head was saving that poor little girl.

“The
mother was near hysterical and no one else was willing to risk their lives,
except for your son and his friends. I was trying to—”

“Mr
Childes,” Jacquard said, cutting him off before he embellished the story any
further, “I do not mean to be rude, but time is of the essence. If you could
skip the details and tell me where the man is now, please?”

Embarrassed
at being chastised in front of the crowd, Denholme went bright red. Jacquard
cursed himself. The last thing he wanted was for the man to lose his nerve and
clam up.

“Well,
forgive me, my lord,” Denholme began again, “that is the strangest thing. After
the man rescued the girl and the onlookers had put out the flames that engulfed
him, this mother put him on a barrow and wheeled him away all by herself. I
know a lot of people in this city given my profession, but I’d be damned if I
had ever seen her before in my life.” Several other people in the crowd either
nodded their heads or voiced their agreement. “That is all I can tell you, I’m
afraid.”

“Does
anyone else know who this woman is or where she took the body?” The same people
that had nodded a moment ago now shook their heads.

“So
I am no better off than when I started,” he said more to himself than to the crowd,
although Denholme felt compelled to answer.

“No,
my lord.”

The
sounds of trumpets rang out indicating that someone had arrived at the palace.
Mondorlous, at last. Jacquard thanked the crowd, paid Denholme one gold coin
and began making his way back to the palace.

His
knights joined him one by one as he ascended each level of the city. By the
time he reached the outer walls of the palace, all five of them were riding by
his side. None of them had found out any more than he had. It seemed the burnt
man had vanished without a trace.

Squires
ran towards them as the gates were flung open, each taking a rein of one of the
horses. Jacquard’s personal squire was a young lad called Tyron. He was a quiet
boy, but diligent. He had been chosen by Longshaw because he could be trusted.

“I
gather Mondorlous has arrived, Tyron?” he asked, pulling his gloves off and
dismounting.

“Yes,
my lord. He is freshening up in one of the guest rooms in the west tower.”

“Excellent.
Where is Iskandar?”

The
boy shrugged.

“I
don’t know, my lord. He said he was going to meditate on Capitalon Hill this
morning. No one has seen him since.”

“Meditate?”
Jacquard shot Longshaw a look. “Send someone to summon him immediately. How
dare he sit on his arse when we are out trying to stop the Gloom.”

“I
can assure you I was not just ‘sitting on my arse’ as you so delicately put it,
my lord.”

Everyone
whirled around as Iskandar came striding up the hill behind them.
How does
he do that?
Jacquard wondered.
He
always seemed to pop up
unannounced.

“Have
you spoken to Mondorlous?” Jacquard asked. Iskandar shook his head.

“I
saw him arrive from my vantage point on Capitalon Hill and descended
immediately.”