Famfrit's Jewel - Chapter 5
Betrayal
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Dagnar and Alaea emerged from the greatwood to a white field piled high with cattle corpses, the skin leathered from decades in the sun and flies buzzing about feasting on the last vestiges of sinew and marrow. A fire burned near a cluster of cottages, sending smoke up in great bursts to smudge the sky. Men and women wandered, forlorn. The ground crunched softly underfoot, like a recent snow falling, but there was no snow, no ice, no dew, only colourless ash. Great cracks carved the land, the worst large enough for a fox or hare to fall in, and the earth was like chalk deep into the darkness.
A camp lay beyond the cottages, tents in rigid lines fenced in by a palisade with watchtowers on the four corners. There was no flag and no sound of soldiers or camp followers. ‘Marazoth has done it, he’s…’ Alaea began to cry. She leaned on Dagnar’s shoulder, her tears warm and wet against his skin.
‘My duty remains,’ Dagnar grunted and prowled towards the hamlet. He had no time to console the woman, no time and no desire. Memories of his wife dancing in the previous years harvest festival filled his mind, the sway of her skirt, her smile, her laugh - all of it became ash, blown away in the wind.
Alaea pitched forward, her anchor gone. She caught herself, sniffed, and hurried beside him. ‘But it’s done. We failed.’ She reached for his arm but stopped short.
Dagnar wheeled on the woman, ‘My duty is to avenge my family, my people, and to reclaim Famfrit’s gift. I do not care about the King or his city, that was your concern.’ He shoved her back a step. ‘Are you aiding me in that, or not? If I kill Marazoth then a new king can rise and the world can forget this cursed few weeks.’
Alaea stiffened, her nose scrunching in anger but her words failed and the anger dissipated as quickly as it had grown. She said nothing.
‘Why do you care, you’re from Ilyst not Ankoron?’ Dagnar ground his teeth.
‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s just carry on, as you say, remove Marazoth and a new king can rise to bring peace and prosperity.’
Dagnar ground his teeth, the woman was unreadable but still willing to help, that was all he needed. The acrid smoke stung his nostrils. He stalked towards the hamlet and caught eyes with a man around his age. ‘What happened here?’
‘I… I don’t know. A mist rolled over the land and killed the plants and animals but it didn’t harm us. We’re ruined. Ruined. People were screaming and fleeing on the road not long ago but I don’t know why.’
‘The camp, whose is it?’
‘Mercenaries. They don’t cause us trouble, trade for meat and milk every few days. Up and marched off at the crack of dawn, headed for Ankoron it looked like. My father should have been back by now, I need to…’ the man stared through Dagnar, his thoughts elsewhere. ‘Sorry, there’s… too much to do.’
Dagnar nodded, ‘Gods’ blessings to you.’ He prowled on.
‘Won’t you help them?’ Alaea jogged alongside him, doe eyed.
‘With what? Burning cattle or finding his father? I need to find Marazoth. You followed his troops, is that their camp?’ There were too many distractions, the longer he waited the further Marazoth could run, the more power he could corrupt.
‘I don’t know. There was only a few hundred with him in the greatwood, that looks to be at least a couple thousand. Let’s carry on to the city, your revenge awaits,’ Alaea sulked, her eyes fit to burst, yet she traipsed along the road towards Ankoron, leaving the hamlet behind.
Dagnar continued on.
The road into Ankoron was a procession of abandoned carts and wagons with donkeys going hungry. To one side was a pile of rags and bones all lined up in formation. Helms rested atop the bones, spears and shields in the lifeless grass. Marazoth had been here. Dagnar leaned back to see to the top of the wall, but there was no one there. He smothered his awe at how something could be built in the first place, there was no time for it. Marazoth was close, the Jewel too. He headed towards the gate.
‘Wait,’ Alaea grabbed his arm. ‘The gate is shut and there is no captain to order it opened.’
‘And?’
‘It takes five men to open it, there’s another way.’ Alaea gestured to the eastern side of the city. ‘Down there, a waterway. A short dive, a swim and you’ll be inside the city.’
‘How do you know this?’ His trust for Alaea was short but if she’d wanted to kill him she’d had ample opportunity while he slept. Whatever she wanted was not a threat to his life, and nor did he think she truly cared for the King and his city. The people, perhaps, though Dagnar did not know see what good he could do other than killing the sorcerer and thief.
Alaea ignored him. She walked across the pale fields, giving a wide berth to the formation of skeletons that spoke of great evil. ‘Come on,’ she called.
Dagnar followed, a pace or two behind, his attention drawn to the rank and file of skeletal remains armed with bronze and steel shields, the white and gold colouring glistened in the sickly sweet air. There was a warmth in the air similar to a fever, the land was afflicted with something. Disease infected the living yet nothing lived, aside from the people and they were not sick. That in itself was odd, just as how he and Alaea awoke, alive, in the decaying greatwood. None of it made sense but it was all connected to Famfrit’s Jewel and Marazoth, of that Dagnar was certain.
Alaea led him along the eastern wall, hugging the unflinching stone. A trickle of water echoed and grew louder and louder. Alaea halted above a stream that could be easily stepped across, ‘Here.’ She pointed to an archway close to the ground no higher than Dagnar’s knees and wide enough for him to crawl through, maybe.
‘You may fit, I might not,’ Dagnar said.
‘You will, might have to dig out some of the silt on the riverbed but you’ll fit.’
‘That is not a river, it is a stream and the silt is likely shit,’ the stench was faint but unmistakable. His dirk would suffer, as would the sword he’d pilfered, but in a city there was guaranteed to be a smith with oil.
‘Do you want to kill Marazoth or not?’ Alaea spat and though she feigned anger her expression couldn’t hold it. Within moments she softened again, her angelic features resurfacing, making her unreadable.
‘Fine,’ Dagnar jumped into the stream. ‘I’d have expected iron bars or a gate,’ he lowered himself and peered beneath the archway. The stone was a several yards thick and the water graced the ceiling of it. Dagnar filled his lungs and dove into the water, he stomped along the shit filled silt and pressed his hand to the arch to keep himself moving. When the light returned overhead he rose, surfacing in a pool against the wall where he drank down air.
‘Good day to you,’ Asparion said. Ten mercenaries surrounded the pool, arrows nocked.
Dagnar went to shout for Alaea but she appeared beside him with a knife in hand, she pressed it to his throat, ‘Too trusting.’ She slid her hand across his torso, down to his belt, and helped herself to his sword and dirk, tossing them on the bank of the stream.
‘Come, my master wishes to speak with you. It concerns the Jewel,’ Asparion clicked his fingers and sauntered off. The bowmen did not relax their strings.
Alaea pressed her blade against Dagnar’s throat, ‘Move,’ she whispered in his ear, so close he could feel her lips grazing his skin, her hand had not left his belt loops. He clambered out of the stream and shackles were slammed onto his wrists and ankles. Two of the soldiers grappled him along to meet his fate.
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Many thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Check out this week’s One Shot if you missed it:
