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The first few days of their flight from Meriandor proved to be an uneventful if not entirely comfortable experience for Queen Jessima, her two children and their travelling companions, the Jelvoan warriors. Leaving the walled city behind them, they quickly settled to enduring the monotony of travelling long daylight hours on horseback, making good speed through the lush countryside of the rural lowlands of Caregoron. It soon became clear that the simple peasant disguise adopted by the royal family was sufficient to prevent them from being recognized, the few travellers that they passed showing little interest once they saw the Jelvoans.
Like their charges, the warriors' appearance had undergone a number of changes, although theirs had been more subtle, there having been no need to disguise them completely, since their cover required them to look as though they had once been Caregoron regular soldiers. Every man was a member of the elite corps of palace guards, and it was this that had to be hidden, it being unheard of for men to desert its ranks. Gone were their fine scarlet tunics, the burnished bronze breastplates and elaborate plumed helmets, to be replaced by garb more fitting common soldiers. Now they wore scuffed and worn leather breastplates over white tunics, with their heads protected by iron morions, a simple open helmet with a curved brim.
Despite their uniforms, the men were well armed, since even Jelvoan deserters would be sure to retain their weapons. Each man carried both sword and dagger in the warrior style, the blades made from the finest Jelvoan steel, and an assortment of bows and staff weapons as suited their choice. The column fairly bristled with a variety of axes, maces, spears, and in one case even an iniquitous morning star.
Following a route that took them a few degrees north of due west, they headed directly for their destination of Corindell. Drizhus, the warrior captain in charge of the party, sent scouts forward to check that no threat lay ahead, whilst others rode as a rear guard to ensure no one followed them. Having taken precautions to prevent them from being spied upon, there had seemed little point in delaying their arrival by taking unnecessary detours to disguise their intent.
In the early hours of the sixth day of their journey, one of the forward scouts rode back to where the main group camped, to report that a band of Antaleki raiders was heading in their direction from the west. Drizhus quickly ordered them to break camp, removing all traces of their occupancy, and set off on a new course to head more directly north. Luck favoured them, and by mid-afternoon the scouts returned to inform their captain that the group had passed them several miles to the south. Back on course soon after, the royal family and their attendants continued on their way.
Although much of Falgorin remains unexplored, with its dense forests, barren wildernesses and inhospitable mountain ranges, the lands of Caregoron are well travelled. For hundreds of years gypsies, traders, itinerant workers, entertainers and the like have been criss-crossing its countryside, consequently by local standards, it has been well mapped. Because of this, the royal party knew that with only one exception, the Great Marish Swamp, no geographical obstacle stood between Meriandor and Corindell. Rolling verdant hills, occasionally separated by clear rivers that tumbled from the high peaks and crags of neighbouring Mandax into the far off Middle Sea, were the dominant features.
Ever cautious of encountering people who might question their purpose, Drizhus would lead the main group away from any small village or hamlet, although he would send two or three of his men to ride in to barter for food. Apart from obtaining fresh bread and provisions, it was also a good opportunity to catch up on the news in the taverns, the centre of communications in the rural areas.
Despite outward appearances, the two small wagons that accompanied the party were modified to hide the clothes and other necessities that the royal party would need in exile; consequently, there was little space for provisions. This necessitated a constant need to forage as they travelled. Fortunately, there was a plentiful supply of game, easy prey for the skilled warriors, which ensured that they had fresh meat. Fruit and vegetables they plundered from farms that lay in their path, always careful to avoid taking more than their immediate needs, or their ability to carry.
After enduring the varied, and rarely enjoyable, culinary efforts of her guardians for a couple of days, Queen Jessima finally prevailed upon the captain to allow her and Princess Esperia to prepare the meals. Drizhus, like Kawuhl found difficulty in allowing two high born women to perform menial tasks, but he was no match for the will of Jessima. She reasoned that should anyone come across their party, nothing would seem more natural than the two women preparing food, a truth that had not escaped the captain’s notice, so he finally conceded.
With something to occupy their thoughts between stops, as they planned meals and discussed their preparation, the queen and princess found the distraction welcome. For short periods of time, it kept them from dwelling on what might be happening with the king. Only Caslan felt left out, and despite his efforts to put a brave face on things, clearly worried about his father. He was also missing his pet, a large silver tabby cat answering to the name of Snarch, that he had been forced to leave behind in the care of Barshivor, the only other person the cat allowed near it.
Noticing the boy's distress, the warrior captain attempted to engage the young prince in sword and bow practice during their rest stops, but it soon became obvious the child had no leaning towards such pursuits. Finally conceding to himself that he was wasting his time, he tried to think of something else. As the son of a Jelvoan warrior, his own childhood had been spent in games designed to develop his weapons skills and with no children of his own, and his whole life spent performing purely military tasks, he was at a loss to think of anything.
It was the day after the captain had given up trying to coax the youngster, that the lad himself provided the answer. The previous night had found them caught in the open, where they spent the hours of darkness sheltering, as best they might, against a constant downpour of rain that left them feeling tired, wet and miserable that morning. To make matters worse, the man charged with their supply of fire making materials, had through no real fault of his own, given the conditions, allowed the tinder to become wet through.
Try as they might to get a fire started, it soon became apparent that the task was impossible. With no woods nearby where they might find dry timber, and not wanting to wait until the sun could dry things out, it looked as if they would travel on in wet clothes and without hot food in their stomachs.
Whilst a succession of warriors tried unsuccessfully to get a fire started, Caslan sat watching their pitiful efforts with barely concealed amusement. Finally, wandering over to where the heap of tinder lay damp and cold; he pushed back the man still trying to get a spark into it, and muttering a few words, pointed at the twigs with his right forefinger. In a flash, the damp sticks hissed steam and moments later burst into flame.
Leaving the warrior staring dumbfounded, the prince wandered back to the spot where he had previously been watching and promptly sat down again, as if nothing had happened.
“You'd better put more wood on that fire before it goes out again,” called Caslan to the warrior who had been too busy staring at the prince to notice that the small heap of twigs had almost burned through.
Queen Jessima and Drizhus had been talking close by, as Caslan had performed his fire-starting magic, and immediately both rushed toward the boy. Although she knew that her youngest son had been spending much of his time with Ichabod the sorcerer, she had no idea that the boy had any magical ability or had progressed to casting spells, even as minor as those needed to start a fire.
Given the circumstances, the queen could have been forgiven for her manner, yet her words clearly upset the young prince. “Caslan, how did you do that?” she demanded, then without giving the boy chance to reply, added, “When did you learn to cast spells?” and finally, “What else has that wretched old rogue Ichabod been teaching you?” Only as she finished speaking did her pride at the boy's achievement finally temper her concerns over the dangers of mishandled magic, allowing her to smile at him.
Unfortunately, Caslan was already responding to the damaging effect of her words, and was in no mood to be appeased. Embarrassed at the unwelcome attention in front of the Jelvoan warrior, but more hurt by the disparaging remark about his mentor, the prince came close to tears. “Ichabod is not a rogue!” he almost shouted over his shoulder as he walked away, “He’s my friend.”
Sensing that her tone had been harsher than her intent, and admitting her mistake in assuming, that an eleven-year-old would recognize the semantics, she tried to make amends. Hurrying after the boy she said, “I'm sorry Caslan, I didn't mean that Ichabod was a bad man, it was meant as a joke but it didn’t come out quite the way I meant. I think it was because I was so surprised to find that I have a son who is a magician.”
Although mollified by her apology, he was so serious by nature that Caslan still failed to see how such abuse could be a joke. Nonetheless, he loved his mother dearly and in the manner of children quickly forgot her remark, his mind moving on to the rest of what she had said. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “I'm hardly a magician, mother, but Ichabod says if I practice and study hard I might become one.”
“Then I'm very proud of you. Now tell me, can you only cause wet firewood to burn or are there other spells you can cast?” asked the queen, realizing for the first time how badly she had underestimated the young prince's determination.
“I've learned quite a number of spells, but Ichabod made me promise not to try some of them unless he was present. He says they're too dangerous for me to try alone in case anything goes wrong, or because I'm not yet strong enough to control them without hurting myself, but there are some that he does let me do. I can make things move, I can create a light or a sound, there's lots I can do.” As he spoke, explaining some of the spells he had mastered, it was clear to the queen that Caslan's interest in magic went far beyond idle curiosity. The young prince became more animated than he had been since they had left Meriandor, his eyes bright with excitement.
Moved by the earnest way in which the boy spoke of his achievements, the queen determined to speak with her husband as soon as she was able. Few people have the ability to become magicians, and still fewer are of royal blood. Ignoring such a combination would be foolish; perhaps the time had come for her and the king to set aside their hopes for Caslan and apprentice him. There seemed little chance Ichabod would refuse to accept the boy.
As her son finished speaking, Jessima was aware that Caslan's desire to prove his worth had been fulfilled. Hugging him to her, and almost in tears, the queen congratulated her son. “That's wonderful Caslan; I had no idea how clever you are; now I know we shall be safe with you to protect us.” At that precise moment, with those few words spoken in encouragement, the queen unwittingly created the very circumstance that would later have such a disastrous effect on the boy.
Caslan's whole face lit up at his mother's words. When Drizhus suggested that he could use his magic to light their fires in future, since flint and tinder always took so long, he positively radiated, feeling himself at last to be useful.
Twice more in the following week, the party had to alter the direction in which it travelled to avoid marauding bands of raiders, both times passing without incident. The next occasion was to prove less fortunate. Continuing to travel by day, since portraying themselves as innocents meant that they had no need to slink through the night; they always endeavoured to find a suitable place to camp before dusk fell.
Although on occasion his efforts at finding a site in which to camp had proven difficult hence their previous soaking, Drizhus was struggling to find a place he approved of, finally opting for a small clearing, close to the track they had been following. They had entered the forest just after midday and hoped to be clear before nightfall, but the path had followed the meanderings of a stream and whilst generally maintaining the direction they wished to go, had somewhat slowed progress. Worried about the possibility of attack, and with the surrounding trees making the spot difficult to defend, the rapidly fading light forced the captain to accept that it was the best available.
Dividing his small force into squads that would relieve each other at four hourly intervals, Drizhus instructed his men to guard the camp perimeter, warning them to keep a sharp lookout. Barely had the rest of the camp bedded down for the night when a blood-curdling sound shattered the peace of the forest. In an instant, the alert warriors were on their feet, weapons in hand, as they stared into the gloom of their surroundings, seeking the cause of the cry.
For what seemed like an age, the forest again lapsed into silence. Not even the rustlings of the night creatures disturbed the peace; the only sounds the muted noises made by the men as they shifted positions, or the snickering of the horses as if they scented danger. It was as if everything was holding its breath waiting for the next move to be made in whatever hidden game was being enacted.
Suddenly the whole forest erupted into frenzied activity, breaking the calm as the sound was repeated, this time continuing without pause. The trees above filled with sound as birds flapped in panic, whilst on the ground, small creatures darted through the undergrowth, squeaking and crying as they fled in all directions.
Seeing his three Royal charges clearly outlined by the light from the campfire, Drizhus bellowed an order to them to take cover in the tent occupied by the queen, mindful only of their safety and not protocol. With them hidden from view, he then made certain that men had taken up positions ready to defend them, the whole time the banshee wail rising and falling.
Barely had he completed his task when from all sides dark shapes hurtled from the woods and set about his men. In an instant, the camp became a battleground, the clash of metal on metal masking the hideous cries as swords struck out. Despite outnumbering the Jelvoans two to one, the attackers, Mandaxon raiders, badly trained and poorly equipped soon fell to the might of the superior warriors. Within minutes, several of their numbers lay dead around the campsite, yet the raiders continued to press the battle.
Grouping his men, the Jelvoan captain ordered them to split into two ranks and began driving forward into their assailants in wedge formation. Splitting the Mandaxon force in two, the fighting became less spirited, until soon only a few of the foe remained standing. Regardless of their losses, the Mandaxons fought on, as though some force was driving them. Never had Drizhus seen such fanaticism in raiders; twice when striking them down he'd noticed how they appeared unaware of their surroundings, fighting more like automata than do men.
The whole skirmish didn't last long, but it took the death of the last raider before it ended. Although there were several reports of cuts and a couple of broken limbs, Drizhus felt relief on hearing that there had been no fatalities amongst his own men. Regrouping around the fire, the captain ordered some of his men to search the perimeter for signs of further attack. Unnerved by what had happened, even the warriors were wary of straying far from the campsite, the darkness almost impenetrable amidst the trees, yet each fought to calm his nerves as he carried out the order.
Several minutes later, one by one they returned, each reporting that nothing had been found, the woods now quiet. Although Drizhus could not recall hearing the sounds stop, whoever or whatever had been responsible had ceased its unearthly screams.
When the fighting stopped, Queen Jessima hurried from her tent, closely followed by her children, brushing aside the protests of their guards. Drizhus, still uncertain of the situation, was unhappy about the queen being amidst the bloody scene that the campsite had become and wasted no time in informing her. Crossing to where she stood surveying the Jelvoan injured, the captain protested, “Your Highness should not be out here until we are sure it's safe.”
“Nonsense Drizhus don't fuss so, you have injured men who need attention, and besides,” glancing around at the motionless Mandaxon bodies that lay scattered to the four corners of the camp, “there appears to be no fight left in them.”
As the queen and her daughter bathed and dressed the wounds of the injured, Drizhus looked on helpless to deter the strong willed woman. Whatever fears she may have had for her safety and that of her children, she showed no sign of it as she tended the men.
Some time later, her ministrations over, Jessima sought out the captain who was busily engaged in organizing his men in the unpleasant task of removing the dead from the camp. The memory of the sounds that had heralded the start of the attack troubled Jessima, and she wanted to ask Drizhus what he thought it had been that had caused such fearful screams.
Drizhus it appeared was no less puzzled than she, “I wish I knew My Lady; it would seem unlikely it was the Mandaxons, yet I've no other explanation.”
“Strange indeed,” she replied. “It seems odd they should announce their presence in such a manner. In any case it sounded more as if something was being tortured, an animal sound rather than one made by any Mandax soldier.”
Drizhus nodded his agreement, adding, “There was something strange about those men; Mandaxons don't usually fight to the death when a battle turns against them. After all, they're not regular soldiers. Twice I felt that they were being compelled to fight, almost against their will.”
After removing the bodies of the dead from the camp, and with the guards doubled, the others settled down to rest, but sleep came to few that night. As the first light of dawn broke through the trees, the whole camp was awake and eager to move from that place of death.
The mood was sombre as they took their first steps into the forest that morning. Partly due to the lack of sleep from the previous night, but more from apprehension, as their path took them in the direction from which the ghastly sounds had come. Drizhus had doubled the number of forward scouts for fear of further encounter, and sent them out well before the main party departed.
They had only been travelling for a short while when two of the scouts returned at full gallop, reining their horses to an abrupt halt in front of the captain. Breathless from their dash, and visibly unnerved, both men attempted to speak at once, strain evident in their voices as their words tumbled forth in a confusion that made little sense.
Impatience getting the better of him in front of his queen, Drizhus snapped at the men to get a grip on themselves before demanding a full report from the older of the two.
Making an effort to control his breathing, the warrior spoke, “Sir, you must turn back; you cannot take the queen further along this route. It's too horrible for them to see.”
With the events of the previous night still fresh in his mind, and concerned with the safety of his charges, Drizhus was rapidly losing his temper. He still had to find out what it was that his scouts had seen, and the two men facing him were doing little to provide him with the information that he required. Forcing himself to remain calm, he spoke again, “What's too horrible, speak up man, what did you find, and where's the rest of your group?”
“They're waiting ahead for your orders sir, but you mustn't let the children see it.” This from the second scout. Clearly whatever lay ahead had to be bad to reduce Jelvoan warriors to such a state of agitation, as both men struggled to regain their self-control.
Wasting no more time on explanations, the captain reached a decision. “Very well, wait here with the rest of the group,” then turning to the first man to speak, Drizhus added, “and you can lead me to where the others wait. I'll see for myself what's so bad that it sends you fleeing back here like whimpering animals,” contempt adding a barb to his tone.
Addressing the queen who had been watching the exchange, Drizhus asked that she and the rest of the party remain where they were until he returned.
Kicking his mount into a trot, the captain and his still quivering scout set off back the way the two men had just come. Increasing the pace as soon as he was out of sight of the queen, Drizhus wasted no time in rendezvousing with the remainder of the scout party. His first reaction at finding them milling around muttering in worried tones amongst themselves was one of anger, although some of them were clearly not yet over bouts of vomiting. However, seeing hardened soldiers reduced to puking wrecks soon changed that, causing his first hint of fear, as he tried to imagine what could have had such an effect on Jelvoan warriors.
Before Drizhus had chance to berate the men, a veteran sergeant rode to his side and addressed him. “Sir, I beg of you to reconsider before you ride on, what lies ahead is truly the work of evil, turn back and take another route.”
Exasperated by the appeal the captain snapped, “Enough, we are all warriors, and as such do not turn our backs, no matter how unpleasant the route before us.”
Chastened by the rebuke the man responded hotly, “Have you and I not ridden together and fought side by side on enough occasions that you can think me capable of cowardly act?”
Insubordination amongst warriors was unheard of, yet the captain was man enough to realize his words had been unjust, especially to one of his old comrades. Flushing with embarrassment, Drizhus attempted to make amends.
“You're right Krawn, and I apologize, but I must know what it is that lies ahead. I have to protect the Royal Family, and need to find out what dangers lay before us, and the strength of the forces being set against us.”
“Yes sir,” acknowledged Krawn, resignation clear in his voice, before making a final effort to forewarn his superior, “I understand, but there is no danger ahead or none that we could see...”
“Then what is it?” demanded Drizhus, interrupting the sergeant.
“It would be hard to explain,” replied the old soldier, shaking his head as if trying to rid it of the sights he had seen, “but I feel that I must caution you, what lies ahead is foul in the extreme.”
Seeing that his protests were having little effect on the captain, the warrior conceded. “Since you're determined then let's be about it, but the men should wait here as they've no need to witness it again.”
“Very well, just you and I,” agreed Drizhus urging his horse forward. “You men wait here until we return,” he ordered, shouting over his shoulder at the remaining group.
They hadn't travelled far, less than half a league, before the horses began to snicker and whinny, disturbed by something ahead that obviously frightened them.
Krawn knew the cause, “They smell the blood, sir. We should tether the horses and proceed on foot, it's not far ahead.”
By now, Drizhus was having to fight to control his horse, and seeing the sense of what the other man said; reined in and dismounted, the older warrior following his example. Leaving their horses tied to nearby trees, where they stood pawing the ground, their eyes rolling in fear, the two men marched forward.
Drizhus sensed that they were close to whatever had so dramatically affected his men, and soon recognized the metallic smell of blood in the air. They were still following the same path through the forest, when unexpectedly it widened out into a small clearing. The instant they left the cover of the trees, Drizhus gagged at the sight that met his eyes.
Despite the dire warnings from his companion, he was quite unprepared for the scene that greeted him. Had some demonic artist taken a brush and pails of blood, he could not have more completely painted the area than had been done already. Sticky, dripping gore liberally coated every tree, bush, rock and pebble. Rivulets of the stuff had run across the uneven ground and formed congealing puddles of the slick, darkening liquid.
Struggling to control his heaving stomach, Drizhus forced down the bile rising in his throat. Barely breathing, the only defence against the sickening stench of the glade, he allowed his eyes to take in the rest of the scene. Legs, heads, arms and mutilated torsos were there in abundance, strips of torn and bloody clothing lying jumbled amidst the carnage. Grotesquely distorted and cast to the winds, the remains clung to the branches of small trees, draped across boulders or simply lay in untidy bundles on the ground.
It was as if hordes of ravening beasts had indulged in an orgy of frenzied feeding. Totally ripped apart, the bodies had spilled organs from rent chests and stomachs, in places still lying in coiled heaps. And the smell was indescribable. Whatever had attacked the men had spared nothing; the scattered remains of their horses lay amongst the bodies. It was the tortured screams of the animals, Drizhus now realized, that had warned his camp of the impending attack last night.
It would have been inhuman to remain unaffected in the face of such horror, and so it was for the captain as he grimly looked about, hardly taking in the detail. Impossible to tell from the hundreds of pieces of flesh that covered the clearing, Drizhus instinctively felt that this had been no feeding place. Although not one body was whole, he was sure that were it possible to reconstruct the individuals, nothing would be missing. This had purely been an exercise in savage torment, not to provide food.
Suddenly the effort became too much, and with his head spinning, Drizhus turned on his heel and fled the scene, clutching at his middle as he fell to his knees, retching. For several minutes he was unable to move, his stomach although empty continuing to heave spasmodically. As the attack gradually eased, he struggled to his feet, wiping the spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand. Facing his companion Drizhus looked at him, his eyes conveying more than any words could have achieved.
“In the name of the Creator, what manner of beings could have done such a vile deed?”
Unaware, as were they all, of the events back in Meriandor, Krawn's answer came as a great shock. “Not beings sir, being...the Ghyyrox, only it could have been responsible.”
“But that’s impossible!” exclaimed Drizhus, “I know the legends as well as any, but that’s all it is... a legend, the Ghyyrox doesn’t really exist.” He paused for a moment as if to give himself time to think before asking, “What in the name of the Creator made you think such a thing?”
“The evidence of my own eyes, if you wish I can tell you where you may see the proof, but it will mean returning for a moment. I hadn't seen it myself the first time, but when we returned I saw the sign.”
The captain shuddered, “Much as I hate the thought of going back there, and not because I doubt what you say, but I must see for myself.”
Sharing his captain's aversion, the sergeant hopefully remarked, “I understand sir, but with your permission I would as soon wait here.”
“Of course, no reason for you to go back for a third time, I'll only be a moment.”
Steeling himself, Drizhus began to walk back the few paces to the clearing, hesitation evident in every step. Gritting his teeth, he looked around until he saw the severed head where he had been told it would be, about six feet to his left. Desperate to avoid encountering the blood-drenched bushes that surrounded the place he took a few tentative paces forward, and unseeing placed his right boot in a gleaming puddle. Sickened by the sight, he tried to shake the stuff free, but only succeeded in splashing it onto his other foot.
Realizing he had little chance of traversing even the short distance necessary without getting gore on his boots, he moved forward. Having no wish to inspect the head at close quarters, he paused when he was still a couple of feet away, although close enough for his purpose. There was no mistaking the sign; turned to stones, both eyes stared unseeing back at him.
Satisfied that he had seen enough, he retraced his steps, and paused to wipe the blood from his boots on the first clean patch of grass that he came to. It was only as he walked back to where the other man waited that a thought struck him. The dismembered bodies had been those of Mandaxons. What little remained of their clothing indicated they had been a raiding party. Could there be some connection between them and the attack on his camp?
As the two men rode back to rejoin the rest of the forward scouts and then to return to the main group, images of the carnage continued to assail Drizhus. Never in his life had he been witness to such slaughter. He'd seen many bodies after the battles he had fought; some cruelly cut and slashed from hand to hand sword fights, but nothing to compare with the savage, brutal hacking and tearing apart of those lying in the clearing.
Something further troubled him, but with his thoughts in such turmoil, he couldn't bring it into focus. He just knew there was something he had missed, some connection between the bodies and the Mandaxon raiders who had attacked his camp.
Although Drizhus and his scouts had only been gone for a short while, by the time they rejoined the group, the queen had become agitated and was on the verge of ordering the men to follow the captain, certain some catastrophe had befallen him.
It was obvious from Drizhus's expression that he had witnessed something that had deeply affected him, yet despite the queen's protestations, he told her little. Deliberately keeping the details sketchy (including omitting that it was the work of the Ghyyrox), he simply said that a band of Mandaxons had been attacked and that they should detour to avoid the children witnessing what was an unpleasant sight.
Accepting for the moment his explanation, the queen did not intend to let the matter drop, certain there was more to it than she had been told. As soon as a suitable opportunity presented itself, she intended to question the captain more fully.
Picking new men to act as scouts, Drizhus sent them forward to find an alternative route, avoiding the clearing. Soon after their departure, the rest of the group set off, giving the site of the Mandaxon slaughter, a wide berth. The rest of the day proceeded without incident, and by dusk, they had pitched camp at the base of a huge rocky escarpment, which afforded protection from attack, at least from that quarter.
After a meal for which few found sufficient appetite and having ensured that both the prince and princess were settled for the night, Jessima sought out the warrior captain.
“Now that we are able to converse without being overheard, I want you to tell me exactly what it was that you found this morning.”
Unhappy at being placed in such a position, Drizhus knew he had little choice, and that the queen would insist on hearing every detail. She could not, however, force him to relate the story in all its bloody specifics. He recognized that there was really only one issue that mattered, and it was only this that he decided to tell her.
“My Queen it would serve neither one of us to dwell on the sights that my men and I had to endure today.”
Holding up a defensive hand as she made to speak, he continued.
“Please, there's nothing to be gained. There is but one fact of import that I withheld, and even now, I'm unsure that I should pass it on to you. Only Sergeant Krawn and I saw the evidence, the others were too shocked to take it in. He is sworn to keep the matter secret, and I believe for the good of all, that it should remain so. I'll make exception only for you, although I do so reluctantly.”
Shocked at the way the Jelvoan spoke, Jessima tried to reassure him.
“Whatever it is, you must tell me. I'll decide if the others should be told, the responsibility will then be mine.”
“Very well I will tell you, but I insist that it go no further. I'm sure when you hear what I have to say you will agree that this is best. What I said before about the men we saw being Mandaxons was true, it was what had attacked and killed them I lied about; it was the Ghyyrox. I had to be certain so I checked; their eyes all bore its mark.”
Despite there being little light, save the glow from their fire, Drizhus was still able to see the blood drain from the queen's face, nor did he miss the shiver that gripped her as she struggled to deal with what he had just told her.
“Are you sure...sorry, yes, you said you had checked. It's just that...” Her voice faltered, “It's too...” Finally shaking her head despairingly, tears bright in her eyes, mouthing words to which her vocal cords gave no sound.
Desperate to comfort her, yet held back from any physical contact by the difference in their station, the warrior looked on, helpless.
Suddenly it was too much for the woman, and for the mother; the tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks in tiny, uncontrolled streams.
“Oh Randufil,” she cried in anguish, “why am I here, what's happening to us, the children, how can I protect the children?”
Torn between duty and compassion, the Jelvoan bowed his head at the sight of the stricken queen.
“Your Highness?” But his words were unheeded.
“Queen Jessima, please.” Twice more he spoke her name, softly as a lover might, yet never without respect. Finally, she responded, lifting her head, and looking in his direction, until something caused him to look up and their eyes met. At that moment, they were as close as it was possible for two people to be without physically touching. The warrior, full of understanding for his queen and dedicated to her well-being, the queen, needing his strength, recognizing his desire to provide the comfort she so dearly missed from her husband.
Neither spoke a word, not needing to voice the exchange that was taking place, yet both secure in the understanding that had grown between them. They would go on and face whatever lay before them, knowing they had a trust that neither would break.
Come the morning, neither spoke of what had taken place the previous night, nor did either dwell on what might have occurred between them had they been different people. There was no discomfort in their first meeting that new day, each recognizing that only the circumstances in which they had found themselves had brought them so close.
With several days' travel still to endure before they would sight Corindell, and in sombre mood, the party broke camp and set off. Caslan, as is the way with the young, soon forgot the attack, and since nobody spoke of what had happened the day after, quickly moved on to other things. Esperia, although still afraid, not knowing what her mother did, also gradually brightened up.
Only Queen Jessima and her warrior captain kept their dark mood. The rest of the men, kept busy scouting, foraging for food or standing guard, had little time to dwell on matters. In common with soldiers of all races, they respected authority and followed orders, and were not required to give thought to such things, which they considered the province of their officers.
On the morning of the third day after the attack, Drizhus, who had been riding at the head of the group, turned his horse, and rode back to be at the queen's side.
“By midday Your Highness, we should be in sight of the Great Marish Swamp.”
Although she had been aware all along that they would have to face the swamp, Queen Jessima had somehow managed to put any thought of its dangers from her mind. The journey had already taxed her both physically and mentally, and dwelling on the forthcoming trip through the Marish would not have helped. Now reminded as she was by the Jelvoan, the queen knew it was time to face it. “Ah yes, the swamp,” she said by way of reply.
The warrior captain could imagine the thoughts his queen would be suffering. Tales of the Marish were rife across the lands. A place full of predators, both animal and of the human variety, insects and disease, it was hardly the place for the Caregoron Royal family. With this in mind, Drizhus offered an alternative. “Although we have travelled farther north than had been my intent,” he said, “we still have to traverse its northern limits. But if we were to continue northwards, we could avoid it altogether, although it would mean an additional three days to journey. The swamp is a dangerous place, so I would certainly feel happier were we to miss it, but in view of the time needed to do so, felt that you should decide.”
Keeping her voice low so that the children couldn't hear, she replied. “Thank you Drizhus for your consideration. I know of the swamp and its dangers, but they can be as nought compared to those we would face if attacked by the beast. The sooner we're in Corindell the safer we'll be; we must risk the Marish.”
“As you command, My Queen.”
Riding back to the head of the small band, the Jelvoan suddenly halted. The thought that had eluded him right from the time he had seen the bodies in the clearing suddenly crystallized. It was the mention of the beast that had done it. Something drove those Mandaxons to attack their camp, something that had prevented them from acting of their own volition, taking over their bodies, and that something had been the Ghyyrox. He remembered his grandfather telling him tales when he was just a boy, tales of how the beast had the ability not only to change its own shape, but also to control the minds of men and beasts. There was still something else in the back of his mind that wouldn't come, but if he didn't worry at it, he was sure he would remember.
With Pallos high in a clear sky, they began to notice a change in their surroundings. The vegetation became at first more lush, and then altered, as the plants grew taller, their leaves heavy and fleshy, thriving in the marshy grounds on the edge of the swamp. Soon the path narrowed so that either side bordered on waterlogged ground, high in slime covered growths of evil smelling swamp weed restricting them to riding only two abreast. Keeping the wheels of the wagons from becoming bogged down became a constant trial, as there was barely sufficient width for them on the path.
Filling the air with their incessant buzzing, the flies and mosquitoes that swarmed in the swamp, added to the party’s discomfort as they attacked any exposed area of flesh, the tiny pinpricks of their bites rapidly turning to swellings that itched and burned. Fortunately, the queen had provided for this eventuality, and both she and her daughter had their heads and arms swathed in fine muslin wraps whilst the young prince wore an old beekeepers hat and gloves. Only the Jelvoans really suffered, yet Drizhus had assured Jessima that the discomfort would be short lived, as he and his countrymen had a natural resistance that would prevent them succumbing to the illnesses so often associated with the insect bites.
As their progress slowed, Drizhus began to worry, frequently checking the position of the sun as the day progressed. He wanted them to reach the firm ground of a small islet that lay to the side of the path, several miles ahead. He'd seen this on a map back in Meriandor before their departure, and wanted them there before darkness fell. He’d had to commit the details of the map to memory, there being only the one copy since mapmakers were scarce and the results of their efforts rarer still. However, like all good soldiers he had an eye for such things and never questioned in his own mind the accuracy of his recollection.
After checking the position of Pallos for what must have been the twentieth time that day, Drizhus finally ordered the party to increase its speed. He knew the risks of horses losing their footing on the soft ground, but felt they were outweighed by those of being caught on the same ground when night came.
The captain's efforts paid off when the group finally reached the islet with enough daylight left for them to make camp. Although it was little more than a widening of the north side of the path, it was, however, adequate for their purposes, the ground dry and hard packed. It took no military genius to see that defending the position would be virtually impossible with the swamp surrounding two thirds of the perimeter of their camp. With little to be done to alter the situation, Drizhus had to settle for posting twice the usual number of guards.
The queen and princess prepared a meal that everyone ate heartily after their long and tiring day. Caslan again proved the usefulness of his fire-starting spell when every piece of combustible material they had gathered was found to be quite sodden. With full stomachs and tired limbs, it wasn't long before they all settled down to sleep. Only the guards remained alert, with Drizhus's admonishments about failing to keep vigilant ringing in their ears.
As had been the case throughout the long journey, the queen and princess shared one tent with the young prince in another beside it. It was because of this that they were separated when the next attack came, this time from a completely unexpected quarter.
Whether by accident or design would never be known, but at the first changing of the guard, amid the replacement men, were all those who had been acting as scouts that fateful morning after the Mandaxon attack. Once the retiring guards had settled to sleep, the new guards began to leave their posts, whispering to one another as they headed towards the centre of the camp, and the royal tents.
Only by the sort of chance that could occur as it did, were they surprised before they reached their objective. A warrior, troubled by a full bladder had risen from where he had been sleeping and gone to relieve himself outside the camp. It was as he returned that he saw the creeping forms moving through the camp, and mistaking them for another band of Mandaxon raiders, raised the alarm. His cries brought men pouring from their tents, swords and bows at the ready.
In the dim light of the fires, confusion soon took a hold, the more so once the identity of the so-called attackers became known. Swords clashed and arrows flew, the noise bringing the members of the royal family hurrying from their tents. There was no sign of Drizhus to direct the affray that ensued, and Jelvoan found himself fighting fellow Jelvoan. Their minds gone, only the bodies of the scout group responded to the orders of whatever drove them.
Although heavily outnumbered each fought like two men, so that soon heavy casualties were being inflicted on the defenders. And still there was no sign of the captain, although sergeant Krawn, his companion during his visit to the site of the Ghyyrox's attack could be seen fighting alongside the possessed men. Pressing ever forward, two of the attackers broke through the cordon around the royal tents and made to move against the queen and princess.
Seeing the danger his mother and sister were in, Caslan halted in his dash to their side, and giving no heed to what was going on around him, began to chant. The spell he invoked was the same shielding one that Ichabod had used. Forbidden from using it by the old magician, who knew the boy would not have the strength to sustain it on his own, the prince could only think of trying to save his family.
As the last words passed his lips, so the purple aura formed, but he had misjudged its span of protection. Realizing he was too far from his mother and sister to encompass them in its safety; Caslan edged forward beckoning to his sister. Seeing her brother's intent, Esperia grasped her mother's arm and began to move in Caslan's direction. The instant they were close enough, the prince opened the shield to let them in, and closed it behind them.
With the battle raging on all sides, and the defenders falling to the machinelike zombies that had once been their compatriots, no one spotted the captain until he appeared standing in front of the royal group.
The effort of keeping the spell from failing was telling on the young and inexperienced prince, and it wasn't long before he began to feel faint. Desperately reciting the words to keep the shield in place, he found that he was able to divorce his mind from the pain his body was feeling as he concentrated on the spell. It was this that Ichabod had feared most, since he knew it was possible for the untrained to continue until there was nothing left to give and death followed soon after.
Gradually the shield failed, not to disappear completely, but drawing in on itself until only the prince was within its protective aura. The moment that the queen and princess were free of its embrace, Drizhus made his move and grabbing them by the arm thrust them across to where two of his cohorts waited.
Jessima, seeing the vacant expression on his face knew he too had fallen prey to whatever had taken control of the minds of the attackers. Watching him she saw he was intent on taking Caslan, who by this time had fallen to the ground, the shield almost gone. Wielding his sword high above his head, he prepared to bring it down across the boy's exposed neck.
At the instant the sword began its fall, Jessima screamed.
“No Drizhus! Not my son, spare Caslan I beg you.”
Whether he heard his name or simply reacted to her cry, the blade faltered in its swing. For a brief moment Drizhus looked down helplessly at his queen, then abruptly his sword slipped from his hand as he fell to the ground, an arrow lodged through his right eye where he had been shot by one of the few remaining defenders.
Jessima's scream had also registered with Caslan, who struggling to hold his head up was just in time to see his mother and sister carried away by the remnants of the attacking guards, who had decided to flee the camp.
Physically drained by his exertions, and devoid of all feeling, Caslan lay where he had fallen throughout the rest of the night and well into the new day. When he finally roused himself sufficiently to take stock of his situation, he found himself alone and surrounded by the corpses of all the Jelvoan warriors, save those who had abducted his mother and sister.
Too weary even to cry, he set about gathering what food and water he could carry. His mother's words come back to haunt him, echoing in his mind “Now I know we shall be safe with you to protect us,” filling him with the certainty that he had failed them all. Without knowing in which direction Corindell lay, he set off determined to reach the city so that he might get word to his father to raise an army to search for his mother and sister.
