The Keeper of the Stones

Chapter 30



Late Afternoon 15th August – T’Nesc Moorlands - Rhuaddan



The Rebel Army crossed the meadows between Erriard forest and the T’Nesc Moorlands at a far more leisurely pace, being no longer fearful of pursuit from the Dzorag hunters behind them and very much in need of rest, having exerted much of their energy in the battle fought that morning and the subsequent retreat. The mood was sombre, no one was talking, the horses were plodding along with their heads bowed down low as if sensing somehow the weariness of their riders and feeling for them. Many of the rebels had lost friends that morning and now, the realisation of what had actually happened hit them hard. They were all extremely grateful to be alive. They were even more thankful to have avoided capture. But most had by now heard of Knesh’ probable fate, and of that of the soldiers who had volunteered to remain by his side, so no one was in the mood for celebrating their escape, or rejoicing in their survival.

The lush green fields of the meadows gradually disappeared as they journeyed west and before long they entered a huge stretch of marshland, a soggy bog through which a narrow, meandering path of dry land provided the only safe pathway through. The track was being followed expertly by the experienced soldiers at the head of the column. The air around them began to grow moist, it soon became thick with a heavy mist which came and disappeared suddenly in random patches. In some areas of the bog visibility was down to no more than a few yards and Ben found himself struggling to see the horseman ahead of him.

After a while the lead rebels moved into almost single file as the trail narrowed ahead, they followed the small path for some considerable time until the mist, and the waters surrounding them, intensified. The horses continued to weave and turn through the swamp that had crept up on them and appeared from almost out of nowhere. Ben looked down to see the waters below him turning into large ponds of mud and quicksand. He could see geysers spouting out bursts of steam and thick, gooey substances he couldn’t identify bubbling in the pits on either side of the path, forming dangerous traps for any soul who dared to stray from the narrow strip of solid ground. He was amazed at how quickly the landscape had altered. At one point, he thought he saw some huge, snake-like crtures swimming about in the pits searching for prey, surfacing for only split seconds, before disappearing into the darkness of the murky liquid. He understood perfectly now why the rebels had chosen this place for a sanctuary, and why the Northern Army feared to enter. He was sure that, for as long as they chose to stay, they would be safe within its boundaries, and he allowed himself to relax a little.

“Wow, this place is amazing!” he said to Artrex, speaking over the King’s shoulder. “It’s like something out of a ghost story. Or a film from back home.” he added.

“Film?” asked a puzzled Artrex. “I am sorry, Ben, I am afraid you speak of things that I do not comprehend.”

“Err… Yeah, sorry. I keep forgetting where I am. Maybe I’ll get the chance to explain it to ya one day?” Ben replied, feeling far too weary to enter into such a probably long and awkward conversation.

They continued to ride for some distance until the narrow path began to widen again. The heavy mist lightened and it began to clear a little. Ben could just make out a large open area ahead of them. All around the clearing were little makeshift camps and fires, improvised shelters and hovels. It looked as though a large island existed right in the middle of the T’Nesc Moorlands, a secret hideout which was surrounded on all sides by nature’s natural defences - the perfect hideaway for a rebel army being hunted and trying to survive against all the odds.

As they reached the clearing the horsemen in front of them dispersed and headed for their own particular areas of the camp. Artrex rode slowly to an area which was clearly prepared for the King, he stopped his horse and dismounted, extending a helping hand to Ben and graciously supporting the young boy as he climbed down. Ben gave a huge stretch of his arms and then shook his legs a few times to relieve the stiffness he felt from being in the saddle for so long. This was much to the amusement of the soldiers in the nearby camps who were obviously used to such rides and themselves feeling no ill effects. Ben ignored their laughter and looked around the camp. Lots of people were beginning to emerge from every conceivable hideaway to greet the soldiers, women and children, the old and frail.

“Ay ay, who are they?” asked Ben, surprised by their sudden appearance.

“Kuh? Srrr... Families of my soldiers, runaways in need of protection from my brother, relatives of those who have aided me, and been made to pay the price for doing so. They all come here for their own safety, it is a hard and meagre existence, but at least here they are alive, and free.” stated the King sadly, as he placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder and invited him to sit down.

Over the next hour or so Artrex and Ben were waited upon by the women of the camp. A hot bowl of some kind of stew was produced as if by magic and Ben devoured it gratefully. The women of the camp watched him as he ate. The youngest amongst them began to snigger and laugh at his appearance, until finally the King had had enough and he sent them all away with a gentle flick of his hand.

“I am sorry for that, Ben. Few of my people have ever seen your like before. Those who did not meet Harry will find you strange to look at, if you will forgive me for saying so?” said Artrex.

“Huh?” answered Ben, as he chewed on the last piece of meat from the stew. He’d scarcely noticed the crowd that had developed, there was food in the vicinity and, as usual, that had grabbed his full attention. “Err… Yeah, of course. Whateve. But, you’re a King, you don’t have to apologise to me. Though, please try to remember, I’m just a boy. I may be from another world, but your people are just as strange to me you know.”

Artrex laughed slightly at Ben’s response. He hadn’t considered things from Ben’s perspective. He thought on it for a few minutes, trying his best to imagine how his world would look to strangers from afar. Then he turned his attention back to their current plight.

“I think that we shall stay here tonight, Ben. The wounded will remain in this camp to be cared for when we leave in the morning. The rest of us will travel to Soreen at first light. Vantrax has won the battle, he will be confident, and he believes we are once again in full retreat. But, he does not know our plans. He will not risk entering T’Nesc. So, he has a dilemma. Does he return to Heron Getracht? Or does he pursue us? No, too dangerous for him that. What then? Does he hope to surround us perhaps?” asked Artrex, as he deliberated and tried to predict his brother’s likely reaction to the day’s events.

“I’m sorry, I really haven’t got a clue. But what of Jake and the others?” asked Ben. “If Vantrax learns of their deeds, he’ll go after them, won’t he? And if he does, he has way too many soldiers for Jake to handle. What can we do to help them?”

Artrex looked into Ben’s pleading eyes, he could see that Ben desperately wanted to help his friend, despite his own weariness. But the King had no answers for him.

“Krarr... Ben, I wish with all my heart that Knesh were here.” he said, in a sad, almost apologetic manner, ignoring his own advice not to think of his friend.

“Yes, King Artrex. So do I. But he isn’t, is he? I’m sorry if I’ve put doubts into your mind, but you must know by now that we’ll all follow you whatever you decide? What are your orders?” asked Ben, suddenly sounding far older than his fifteen years.

Artrex considered it briefly and then replied firmly.

“Thank you. As I stated, Ben, we camp here tonight, at daybreak we make for Soreen. Jake, Zephany and the rest are on their own. There is nothing we can do for them now. I wish it were not so, but we can only look after ourselves. I hope and pray that they have met with success!”

* * *



Nytig had arrived at the T’Nesc camp with the first contingent of rebel soldiers who were fleeing the forest. Though he was strewn upside down across the neck of the soldier’s horse, he was nevertheless able to strain his neck and head upwards from time to time allowing him to see much of the route taken through the Moorlands. The servant was painfully aware that his ability to remember their path may prove essential in any subsequent escape attempt and he concentrated hard on memorising it, the differing plants and vegetation, sands and rock formations all serving as distinguishable landmarks as he plotted the safe route back to Erriard forest.

When they’d arrived at the camp, the rebel soldiers had thrown Nytig from his horse and sat him down near a large rock, which he now leaned up against as he observed them hungrily demolishing the food and drink supplied by the camp inhabitants. It was perhaps due to the rebel soldier’s weariness, or maybe their overconfidence in the natural safety afforded to them by the surding swamp, that the soldiers guarding Nytig now paid him little attention as they satisfied their cravings. He silently worked his hands up and down behind his back, dragging the binds that tied them backwards and forwards across the jagged face of the rock. After a few minutes his binds were cut, his hands were free, and no one had noticed.

Nytig bided his time. He watched whilst the soldiers around him ate and drank. Then, one by one, they disappeared to other parts of the camp, or settled down nearby to gain some much needed sleep. He now found himself alone, guarded by only one rebel soldier, an old Rhuaddan veteran who dosed as his tired body succumbed to the events of the day. Before long, the soldier was fast asleep and snoring along with the rest of his friends.

Nytig seized his chance for escape. He was afraid and nervous, but he remembered Vantrax’ words and he looked over to where the King’s camp was situated. Artrex and Ben were sitting down talking to one another. He decided that he could easily approach them unseen if he crept quietly along the vegetation that surrounded the camp perimeter. Minutes later, he found himself in the long grass on the edge of the bog, completely hidden from view and listening to the King speaking to Ben, from only yards away.

“We camp tonight. At daybreak we make for Soreen. Jake, Zephany and the rest are on their own…”

Nytig heard King Artrex say the words clearly. That was enough! It was all he needed to hear and he was about to scurry away, but he suddenly caught sight of the brown bag which housed the stones.

Believing himself to be safe from the enemy whilst they were hidden in the moorlands, Ben had casually placed the bag on the floor at his side as he relaxed and had something to eat. He had no reason to suppose there was any danger in doing so, and he’d temporarily lowered his guard.

Nytig summoned up a reserve of courage from deep inside of him that he never knew existed. He crept forward silently to within touching distance of Ben and gradually lifted the bag off the ground, trying desperately to make no sound. He managed to accomplish this without alerting Ben or Artrex, who were both engrossed in their own conversation and oblivious to his presence. He clutched the cloth bag to his chest. He could feel the box inside and his pulse rate doubled as he realised what he had.

‘I’ve done it! I have done what was asked of me,’ he thought, ‘I have the stones!’

The servant began to crawl silently backwards and he quickly reached the safety of the long grass, barely able to believe that he’d succeeded in his mission. His breathing was now so rapid that he thought the whole world must surely hear him. And yet, the camp remained quiet and undisturbed.

‘I am going to make it!’ he thought, as he pictured Vantrax’ expression in his mind when he reported to him with the stones.

He raised himself up to make good his escape into the thick mist of the swamp behind him, his heart pounding viciously in his chest.

‘Crack!’



Nytig had stepped on a small piece of twig that had dropped from one of the bundles of wood which were fetched by the camp inhabitants to light the camp fires. It had snapped under his weight with a noise that seemed thunderous to him and he raced immediately, as quickly as his deformed frame would allow, into the mists of the swamp and away from the camp.

Ben and Artrex heard the snap of the twig and turned around instantly to look in the direction of the noise. Ben turned just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a dark figure disappearing into the mist. Artrex automatically reached for his sword, but Ben’s instant reaction was to look for his bag.

It was gone! He began to panic.

“It’s gone! The bag! It’s gone!” he screamed wildly at Artrex. “Quick, come on!” he added, as he drew his own sword and sprinted after the fugitive.

Artrex followed him immediately, shouting loudly at his men to do likewise. But most of the rebels were waking themselves from a deep sleep and only a few of them actually heard him. They entered the Moorlands following the direction that the unknown figure had taken. Ben had a head start on the King and he was a little way ahead of him. Being a good deal faster than Nytig, the teenager soon caught sight of the runner and he recognised the wizard’s servant. He screamed several times in vain at him to stop.

Nytig continued to run as fast as he could, but he knew it was no use trying to outrun Ben, his disfigured leg hampered him and the youngster was gaining too fast. He looked around desperately at the landscape. On either side of the narrow path he was running on were large pools of thick quicksand. He decided quickly that he only had one option open to him if he was going to escape.

‘Uuuygh... They will kill me this time for sure!’ he thought, and he threw the bag as far as he could into the quicksand as he ran.

He didn’t stop to see it land. He kept on running and disappeared into the mist, as the bag and the stones began sinking into the sand!

Ben was running flat out. He was only about ten yards away from Nytig when he threw the bag, the youngster knew he could easily catch up with the crippled servant, but the sight of it hitting the wet sand and beginning to sink beneath the surface, altered his priorites. He had an immediate decision to make and he didn’t hesitate. If there was one thing he was good at it was making up his mind quickly, even if he did take the wrong option from time to time.

Without breaking his stride, he veered for the swamp and launched himself into the air, landing in the thick, gooey liquid not six feet away from the bag, and just in time to grab the strap before it disappeared for good.

The force of his landing plunged Ben deep into the sand up to his shoulders. He knew that he needed to keep still to avoid sinking even further, but he could feel the strap of the bag, and the weight was getting heavier as the box was being dragged down into the recesses of the bog.

“Ben! Ben! Keep still! Do not move!” shouted Artrex, as he arrived on the bank just before the first of his soldiers. “Kraar! You... We will get you! Hold on!” he cried, looking around frantically for anything that may help to reach the young boy.

Ben smiled as he remembered Knesh’ sacrifice. To his amazement he was completely calm now, and totally in control of his feelings.

“Ahh well,” he said quietly, as the quicksand reached his chin, “in for a penny, in for a pound, eh Jake?”

He pulled on the strap with all his might. The bag rose slowly from the swamp and it surfaced, just as Ben’s head was disappearing below the quagmire, leaving only his arms above the sand. He used them to throw the bag with all the energy he could muster and it landed on the bank not far from the King.

Ben had almost disappeared from sight altogether now, only his two hands could be seen. King Artrex raged at the thought of losing the young boy who was willing to sacrifice so much for him and he waded into the swamp without hesitation, ordering his soldiers to form a chain and link arms as he walked. The swamp engulfed him and in seconds it had risen up to his neck.

Ben had gone. He’d been taken by the bog. But the King kept feeling around desperately for him, refusing to give up and praying to the skies above for help and guidance in his search.

“Knesh! Knesh!” he shouted aloud. “Hear me now! Guide my hands to this boy. Help me one last time my old friend, and I...”

Artrex fingers suddenly met Ben’s deep below the surface!

“Pull! Pull you Felaks! Heave!” he yelled at his warriors.

They all responded swiftly and first the King, and then Ben, reappeared, the young boy gasping for air as he resurfaced and spitting violently to expel the sand he’d swallowed. They trudged wearily up the bank and collapsed on the ground next to the heavily soiled bag, trying hard to catch their breath.

A few minutes later, the King had recovered a little and he stared at Ben with a look of complete astonishment.

“Why? Why would you do such a thing? I have come to expect such bravery from my people, it still amazes and humbles me every time. I can understand their reasons though, because I share in their pain. But you... You are not of this world. Ours is not your fight. You are passing through, you will leave when you can, and you have everything to live for! Why Ben, why?”

Ben shrugged his shoulders as any teenager might.

“Dunno.” he replied honestly. “I s’pose it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But do me a favour, will ya? For God’s sake, don’t tell Jake?”