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Easy4reel:
VAN is back!!!

Na internal strike for my school cause am o. . .

CHAPTER ONE


"Company 126, charge!"

Captain Joel Villette's voice rang through the dene that was the site of the current skirmish between a section of the French military troops and a garrison of Portuguese soldiers. The year was 1908, France and Portugal were locked in a serious military tussle over the ownership of Cesalle Island, a supposedly mineral resource filled island in the West Indies.

There are many sides to the story of how the dispute all began but the most widely spread one was perhaps that of how a team of French archeaologists had discovered the island during an excavation mission and they had sent an encrypted message containing the details of their findings back home. The message had unfortunately, or you could say fortunately, fallen into the hands of the Portuguese government who took prompt action in sending out miners to exploit the minerals and several garrisons to protect them while on duty.

When the French government heard of this, they sent a diplomatic request to their Portuguese counterpart to withdraw their industrial and military actions on the island but the Portuguese government paid no heed to the request, leaving the French bureaucrats with no other option than to attempt a forceful take over of the island. An attempt which has been constantly rebutted for three years now.

Presently, three hundred men of French descent broke into wild shouts, lowered their rifles and charged at the enemy line that was made almost invisible by the soot blackened air. Sergeant Jean Trevires was one of these men. He was a twenty eight year old Parisien, 6'2, broad shouldered, averagely built, blue eyed and fair haired with a face that made him more than a hit with females everywhere he went.

He was born Elias Coules into a powerful family of illustrious businessmen in Paris. His two older brothers had been incorporated into the family business when they turned twenty five but his own case was different. On his twenty fifth birthday, his father, Richard Coules, had called him into his study, sat him down and told point blank that he was an illegitimate child, the product of an illicit affair between himself and a hooker.

"My point is you have no right to any inheritance and no stake in the family business," Coules had said as calmly as though he was saying the time. "Living under my roof is even a privilege for you."

"But Father that is unfair, afterall I'm still your son."

"That doesn't change the fact that you are a bastard. Son of a Bi*ch! Have you ever wondered why you are the only one of your siblings who didn't make a distinction in business school?"

That day, Elias had stormed out of the Coules' Residence in fury and had moved into the streets. There in the streets of Paris, many things changed about him. His name, his survival instincts, his philosophies of life, almost everything. When he heard of the unrest brewing in Cesalle, he didn't think twice before joining the army.

"Open fire!"

The order was from the commander of the Portugese troop. He saw that the French soldiers were within range and they had to start cutting them down as quick as possible.

A fusillade was the direct response to that command. Men began to fall like snow flakes in winter on both side as bullets continued to fly around. A shot rang dangerously close to Trevires' head and he ducked reflexively as he propelled himself closer even to the enemy line.

"Bayonets!" Captain Villette roared at the remainder of his men when they were considerably close enough to use the blades.

Trevires sank the blade at the muzzle of his rifle in the chest of a nearby soldier and he pulled it out in time to slash the neck of another enemy with it. Someone grabbed him from the back and attempted to wrestle him onto the blood stained earth. Trevires reacted quickly by sending the butt of his musket into where he believed his assailant's groin was. He didn't hit the mark but he came close as the blow caught the enemy soldier in the solar plexus. The Portuguese grunted and momentarily slackened his hold on Trevires, giving the blond hunk the perfect opportunity to turn and then bury his bayonet between his eyes.

Somewhere close by on the battlefield, a French Lieutenant was periliously close to being butchered by two Portugese soldiers. One of them held the Lieutenant's hands in a vise grip behind his back while another positioned himself to slice the officer's head off his neck with dirk.

"Joao, be fast. We . ."

The Portuguese's speech was punctuated by three rapid shots from some distance. Lieutenant Hercailles was as surprised as he was exceedingly grateful when the death grip on him slackened and his two adversaries drop dead.

Hercailles sprang up quickly and looked around for his saviour. He found him soon enough. He was a tough looking, handsome young man. The young soldier saluted and Hercailles replied as fit. All of this happened in a fleeting moment and both men soon resumed their fighting against the Portuguese in earnest.

After several hours of gruelling warfare, the Portuguese troops retreated into one of their forts, leaving the tired but, no doubt, motivated French side to claim victory in that battle. A pyrrhic victory it was, as they had lost more men to both injury and death than their opponents. They had won the battle but they were far away from winning the war.

Back in their camp, men in the regiment made up of companies 125, 126 and 130 of the French army converged to celebrate their hard fought, costly victory. Drinks, gotten from the canteens of dead friends and foes, were served around the men. Captain Villette pulled some strings and he was able to get a string of wenches delivered to the camp. As each men carted his choice to his tent, Jean Trevires slinked out of camp.

Not again, he thought as he walked deeper into the woods that surrounded the camp. Memories of the time he had been coaxed by his friends to visit a brothel came back flooding. It was perhaps the most embarassing period of his life. He had gone into one of the brothel rooms with virtually no idea of what to do, except a few tips here and there by his friends. Tips that turned out to be mostly fallacious anyway.

"What do you want?" The fat, middle aged lady with sagging jowls in the room Jean had chosen asked. The fact that she was almost nude did not make her any bit attractive.

"I . . . ww . . want. . ." A seventeen year old Trevires had stuttered.

"Come here," The LovePeddler ordered, patting the little space available on the dirty looking mattress she was sitting on.

The sound of whispering voices coming from a cluster of trees close by put a stop to that train of thought. Trevires sneaked closer to get a clear view of the conversing people. Could they be French, Portuguese or locals?

He saw them at last. They were four men, dressed in French military uniforms with their faces covered in half by their helmets and also by bandannas with eye holes punched in them. They sat around a low burning fire and talked in hushed tones as though they were aware that someone was listening to them.

"Up with your hands!" A thick, unfriendly sounding voice growled suddenly behind Trevires.

The blonde sergeant froze. He was found out. He was in trouble.


THE END OF CHAPTER ONE

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Donpeteranking:
Guy abeg do something very soon na abeg u go kil person o.biko in thy namd of oLuwa

Alright sir, I'll see what I can do.

Thanks sir.

Easy4reel:
......seems as though I read 'the piece' with speed of light or did I miss something? Hell No!

Many suspenses here....hope not all the crystal's revelation will come true o


Nice update bro but u know 'WE WANT MORE OF YOU(in sinach's voice)'

Is that a way of saying the last update was short?

I hope so too...

I should have dropped a few more updates but I'm having a challenge with my laptop's screen or flex, I'm not sure which one. I'm afraid my hands are tied for the moment.

Donpeteranking:
Thanks godbless u. but next....

Next is on monday. . . Thanks sir.

Donpeteranking:
Pls more update o, suspense is too much o.

Easy4reel:
We pray thee VANTEE that thou would hearken to our outcries and quench our thirst of update.

Done sirs, I'm sorry for the delay.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

All was dark and still in a little room at the zenith of the Casvillean northern watch tower where Miguel, an off duty guard of the northern city gate, slept peacefully after an overwhelming day at work. They had recorded an unusually high number of Vavires that day and Miguel, with his colleagues, had undertaken the unenviable tasks of cross checking the goods of the migrant traders for Nacos - contrabands. The most annoying thing was that, in spite of their valiant efforts, they hadn’t succeeded in getting any.

Presently, the erstwhile silence of the night was shattered by a loud, continuous sound of jiggling bells. The sounds of screaming and cursing men drowned whatever remained of the tranquil of the night in the dark waters of oblivion. Miguel, a veritable light sleeper, instantly became awake. He laid there on his bed, listening carefully to the continuous, resonant sounds emanating from outside.

“Danger toll,” He muttered to himself in realization.

Danger toll wasn’t just any sound. It was an ominous sign, a harbinger of ill-fortuned and disastrous news. The last time it was heard in Casville was when the news of King Gavyne’s death reached the city.

Miguel made to get out of his bed immediately in order to go outside to see what was amiss, but to much consternation, he discovered that he couldn’t lift his body off the tiny bed. A strange force in the form of a mammoth weight was on top of him, pinning him down and keeping him bedridden against his wish. Cold sweat broke out on the guard’s body as his fuzzy head attempted to proffer an explanation for this strange phenomenon.

“Help!” Miguel yelled as he squirmed under the huge weight in a pathetic bid to wriggle free. His shout was pathetically muffled by the noise outside.

As if in response to his scream, the weight atop him stirred and rolled off. Instantly, Miguel realized what had transpired and he suddenly couldn’t help but chuckle at his own cowardice. It was Maria, his mistress, who had rolled over him in the course of her sleep and her not inconsiderable weight was the reason for his inability to rise.

Miguel retrieved a match from the bedhead with the help of the moonlight that poured in from the only window in the room and walked over to the lampstand to light a few candles, thus illuminating the room completely. The noise that succeeded the emergency toll was increasing exponentially. Miguel, none too eager to know what the chaos was all about, made for the door without delay. He was going to learn what was going on instantly.

“Why are you not in bed?” Maria yawned her question as she sat up and rubbed her eyes sleepily. Miguel’s moving around had apparently woken her.

“Something bad is happening out there. I need to go check.”

“And you are going now, like this?”

Miguel nodded, taking care to avert his eyes from her exposed chest lest he become distracted by the double globes of silk thereat.

“You are overdressed. Take a moment to take some things off,” Maria muttered as she pulled the bed sheet closer and fell back unto the bed to resume her sleep.

“Maundering as . . .”

Miguel cut his rebuke short when he realized that he had only an undergarment on.

“Overdressed indeed,” He chuckled at the irony of Maria’s words as he picked up a robe slung on a nearby chair. He hastily pulled the robe on and bounded out of the room.





* * *

“Helena!” Marcus called out but the only reply he got was the echo of his own voice.

He was in the woods some distance from where the Red knights - the collective name for the group of people who were led away from Cevout by Xesandra - had situated their camp the previous day. After two days of hard riding, they had come to this valley and they had mutually agreed to stay there for a few days before they resumed their journey to Casville since it was clear that the rebels were not interested in chasing them.

Marcus looked wildly around the small area of trees. It wasn’t exactly the safest place to be. He shook his head ruefully as he remembered how he had arrived here. He had been led there by Helena, or more appropriately he had chased after her there.

He had been in his tent, lying on his makeshift bed, relaxing his aching muscles from his exertions of the previous days when Helena stalked in and said,

“I’m going into the woods, follow me if you dare.”

Then she’d gone. At first, Marcus’ unclear head had processed the event as a dream then he realized moments later that it was no dream. You don’t tell yourself you are dreaming in a dream. He had then promptly dashed out of the tent, grabbed the nearest available horse and headed into the woods after her.

“Helena!” He called again. No reply still.

The young warrior cupped his hand and exhaled into it in a gesture of exasperation and despair. He was getting worried, really worried. What if she fell into one of these ditches that appeared intermittently in here? Or if she was attacked by a beast or . . . . By the time he finished checking the little bush nearby for any sign of his missing paramour, he had mentally run through hundreds of ugly things that could have happened to her.

“When did I become this pessimistic?” Marcus asked himself with a dry chuckle. Surely, he thought, love changes a man.

Marcus was just about heading back to camp to seek the help of the other Red knights when he caught sight of a flickering light behind a cluster of pine trees. Without thinking, he raced behind the pines and, to his utmost relief, saw Helena seated in the middle of four burning candles, smiling radiantly to an invisible figure in front of her. She cut the picture of a perpetually happy person with virtually no worries in the world.

“How did you find me?” She asked with the smile still on her face when she noticed Marcus’ presence. He discovered for the first time in the dim lighting provided by the flickering candles that she had a dimple on her left cheek.

“Easy enough, I followed your fragrance.” He said with a shrug. He took care not to look in her eyes when he said that.

“Mhmm.”

“What is this? Your idea of a tryst?” Marcus asked as he walked over to where she sat and eased himself onto the grassy floor beside her.

“We need it, don’t we? We have so much unspoken words between us. I daresay that we have spent far more time kissing than actually talking to each other.”

Marcus let out an audible sigh, “You know, words are most times inadequate to express matters of the heart.”

“That’s right,” Helena concurred. “But in truth, how do you feel about me?”

Marcus’ pale cheeks instantly turned erubescent. He opened his mouth to speak then he stopped, unsure of how best to string the right words together.

Helena stifled a squeal of delight. In a strange way, she enjoyed his general discomfiture and the innocent, embarrassed look on his face. It was particularly a thing of mirth for her that this handsome lad who was good enough to best the finest of knights in the King’s retinue in combats could be brought back to earth by a simple question from her.

“I think. . . I’m sure I’m deeply in love with you,” He said thoughtfully. “At the time I left Austieres, I couldn’t stop blaming myself for not establishing enough correspondence with you. I thought I would never see you again.”

“Tell me, why did you leave?”

“I didn’t want to be found out. I knew if I showed up at the coliseum against Sir Millicent, I would be required to remove my helmet for recognition.”

Helena nodded in agreement. “I didn’t know. I was really mad at you for several days. Then I was mad at myself for some more days for falling in love with you so quickly. I felt my feelings weren’t shared.”

“That’s not true. I love you with the whole of my heart.” Marcus replied quickly. “I wonder if you still feel the same way about me.”

“No,” Helena shook her head with a vacuous stare.

“No?” Marcus repeated incredulously.

She gave a slight nod, “What I feel for you is way stronger than you can imagine. I don’t think I ever told you that I fled from home to look for you here.”

“What? I thought you said you asked Father for the permission to pay a visit to his relatives in the east.”

“I lied. After seeing you at the highlands, I wasn’t going to say anything to widen the gap between us.”

“It’s okay,” Marcus said. “When are you going home?”

“I’ll go when you are ready to come with me.”

“Come with you?”

“Yes. Father has already been making preparations for me to marry Count Ressier. That spiteful man is old enough to be my father. No, I’m not going home till I’m double certain that I’m marrying you.”

“That won’t be any time soon. Marriage is the furthest thing from my mind now.”

“I don’t care. I will stay till you are ready.”

Both lovers lapsed into silence, thinking about the future and what it holds for them. In a sudden movement, Marcus drew close to Helena. He pulled her close and parted his burning lips to accommodate her red, moist ones. For the couple of moments that followed, they kissed away with unimaginable passion.

Suddenly Helena pulled away, a little too abruptly. This was a strange occurrence on its own because Marcus was always the one to break the kisses in their previous sessions. Before Marcus could voice his objection to her sudden withdrawal, Helena let out a blood curdling scream that could well wake up the dead from the pits of hell.

“What’s wrong with you?” Marcus asked as he reflexively grabbed her shoulders to calm her. She didn’t stop screaming, she only responded by pointing her hands over his shoulder to something behind him. Marcus spun, expecting to see the being that was scaring the hell out of his lover.

He saw it, a winged beast with a lion’s head complete with three horns and a mastodon’s body. Add the steel claws, the spiked tail and the deadly fangs and you get it. . . The legendary Negirrel.




* * *

“The hell Miguel, where the deuces did you go? I have been searching everywhere for you,” Lujan called out to his tall colleague as soon as he sighted him bolting towards the parapet where a host of men were gathered.

“Why, I thought the roll says my shift doesn’t start till noon tomorrow,” Marcus shouted back. He stopped running and waited on the spot for Lujan to catch up with him.

“You talk about rolls and shifts?” Lujan scoffed. “The current situation transcends such.”

“Pray, tell me what is happening.”

Lujan was abreast of Marcus now and together, they progressed towards the parapet, “The savages are at our gate. There are over three thousands of them, fully armed, waiting to bring down this city.”

“These savages are stupid. They think because they have Jiarchinn as their leader, they can lay siege or attack Casville of all cities. What foolishness.”

“I won’t say they are stupid,” Lujan reasoned. “I think it is a valid and most sensible military move to attack an opponent when he is most vulnerable. Now tell me the city is not vulnerable. Our king is dead, a greater part of our army is held at Rhodes, fighting a lost cause. There is in fact no better time to attack the city.”

“Still, it is….”

Miguel’s objection was muted by the noisy arrival of Sir Millicent and his right hand man Finn in a carriage. Lord Burth, the general, who had been watching the rebels inch closer from the parapet, promptly walked over to meet the regent.

“General Burth, What is going on?”

“From observation Sir, there are about three thousand men of savage tribe out there. They have forced our gatekeepers to lock the city gates. I presume they are planning to lay a siege on our city. They have about two hundred mangonels and twice that number of archers.”

Sir Millicent scratched his thick side boards lightly, “What do you think our next course of action should be?”

Lord Burth turned to face the parapet again as if looking for answers there. “Well, I’ll say that we should recall the army from Rhodes and maybe seek help from Austieres and Hanzl.”

“No, that will take too much time. By then, these Savages will have gained too much morale for us to handle.”

“We don’t have other options.”

“That doesn’t make this one good,” Sir Millicent insisted. “How many men do we have on hand?”

“A handful, say three hundred or less.”

“Send out your trusted men to gather those men. I’m riding against the Savages in the morn.”

Lord Burth was so shocked that he choked on his reply. Before he could bring himself together to protest against the irrationality of Sir Millicent’s plan, the regent had hopped back into the carriage and left the parapet. Lord Burth watched on in bemusement, he just couldn’t fathom how Sir Millicent intended to defeat an army of three thousand with a paltry three hundred.

Finn too was just as surprised and as the carriage, driven by one of Sir Millicent’s trusted men, headed back to the citadel, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“What’s your plan?”

“What?”

“You are fielding a handful of men against the mighty Savage army,” Finn began. “I know you well enough to conclude that you have other plans in place already. I’m simply asking about them.”

Sir Millicent laughed long and hard. “Is it so unbelievable that three hundred men could go against an army ten times their number? Why, didn’t one of the old Jewish judges pull something like that off? Gabriel or what’s his name?”

Finn’s eyes narrowed, “Gideon had divine help in that battle. I fail to see where your help is coming from since you have declined to send distress call to Austieres and other neighbouring cities.”

“You are forgetting that we have help too, my friend,” Sir Millicent said gleefully. “We have the Phantoms. Lady Suzannah has released their control to me. I can use them at will now.”

“Ah, that’s terrific, but again, will a council that is headed by a Reverend father agree to use magical creatures in battle.”

“I don’t intend to seek their approval. They won’t know what I’m doing. I will simply ask Lady Suzannah to make them invisible tomorrow, then I’ll lead them with available men against the savages.”

Finn shook his head in awe. Sir Millicent had never ceased to amaze him. He remembered the first time he had seen him at the rebel camp at Cevout. He had been so full of dark ideas, schemes and tact that he had wondered if there was a man with a darker heart and a craftier head anywhere under the sun. It’s been eight years since then and with each passing day, Sir Millicent seemed to get better or worse, depending on which angle you were looking at him.

“Tomorrow,” Sir Millicent continued dreamily. “We will have our names boldly writ in gold in the annals of history of this city. We are going to become living legends.”

Afz9095:
happy birthday boss WULLNP

RICKYMARIO:
Happy birthday oga llnp

ashatoda:
happy birthday van tee

princessadeola:
happy birthday

Tunechi1:
Happy belated buffdae

Thank you all. I appreciate .

mhiz:
Happy birthday to you, wishing u all d best in life. Have blast . cheers!!

Thanks Ma'am.

I'm here again, I'm not with an update though. It's just that today is my birthday and I feel like letting those of you that are still following the story know.

I've been working actively on finishing this story for the past few days and I suppose I'll be through by the end of the day. I might drop an update too before the day runs out but thst's if NEPA brings light.

Thumbs up bro, your first chapter was an interesting read, but you need to do some work on your punctuation and cross check your work for spelling errors before posting.

Waiting for the next update.

oghenekome51:
Wow! Wow! Vantee has done it again! Thank u for honouring our request, we are gratefully grateful!

The update was more Dan wonderful and i feel honoured....................

As per Oliver twist tyns nah, bros abeg no vex buh we want more!

You are most welcome ma'am.

Aww, I'm sorry. I might not be able to update for the next few weeks, I have exams coming up but I promise to start updating as soon as vacation commences. Thanks again.

[quote author=GoldenMosquito post=43008239][/quote]You said what sir?
Btw, your moniker is amusing.

RICKYMARIO:
Wonderful!

Thanks sir.

stuff46:
Sacrificial lamb. Lovely update

Lol. Thanks sir.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Malzene D’Aubriere lay on the cold, hard floor of his cell with his mind completely devoid of any intelligent scheme. He had given up on plotting an escape plan or anything to that effect since he had seen those doom visions from the crystal. All he had done since then was to sleep, wake up to eat the sordid meals that were passed to him through the little space under the giant door of his cell and then go back to sleep. He awaited his fate with as much serenity as was humanly possible.

Presently, Malzene pricked up his ears as he heard sounds of approaching footsteps. He listened more intently and gleaned from the sounds that there were no less than three persons coming in the direction of his cell. He found that very odd because no more than one person came to his cell at a time and that usually was the bearer of his food.

A few moments later, the door creaked open and four persons walked into the dark cell. Three of them wore the green garbs of the royal guards and held burning torches while the fourth person spotted a sparkling silver robe and a wand of matching colour. This person was none other than Lady Suzannah, Malzene’s eternal foe.

“What do you want?” He barked at his guests.

“Leave us,” Lady Suzannah ordered the guards. The guards bowed, hung their torches on the wall pouches and left.

“Are you not afraid that I might just run up and strangle you?”

The beautiful lady smiled darkly, “Well, while you may not know that the guards I just dismissed are still very much around and they will come rushing in at a snap of my finger, we both know that you don’t have half the strength to carry out your threat.”

“What do you want?” He repeated his query in a voice heavily laced with bitterness. “Or have you just come to rub my helplessness in my face?”

“Far from that, I have better things to do with my time than coming all the way to gloat in front a crushed foe,” She said. “I’m here to help you, just like I have done so many times in the past.”

D’Aubriere couldn’t stop himself from laughing long and hard. “Please tell me that is an irony.”

“I wish it is. Do you know just how many times I have kept your secrets safe even though I could have nailed you with them? When the late king put a price on your head, I knew exactly where that secret cave of yours was and I could have gotten someone to tell the king but I let you be. When you met the crown Prince in the hills, I was in the background watching. Those times when you treated the prince and his friends of their wounds, I could have easily sold you out as well. . .”

“What exactly do you want? This is the third time I’ll be asking the same question.”

“Alright, I learnt you have met this boy, Marcus Di Santo, on several occasions,” Lady Suzannah said. “I want to know about him.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything you know.”

“Why?”

Lady Suzannah hesitated a while before replying, “The boy is a spiritual mystery. I’ve been trying for years to discover who he is and every other thing there is to his powers but so far I have got nothing of note. Since you have had physical contact with him severally, I suppose you’ll be able to say a few tangible things about him.”

Malzene broke into another mirthless laugh. “You don’t really think I will help you. Do you?”

Lady Suzannah shrugged, “I was hoping you will be wise enough. After all you will get a states’ pardon and some Ciblis to boot.”

“I might be tempted if I haven’t seen the future. But now I know that my fate is to be executed, so even if I tell you what you want you’ll still have me executed.”

“I can’t believe that you are this silly. Do you not know that the future is never static, that it is entirely based on the actions you take now?” The sorceress said. “Well, since you are determined to go to your grave early, I won’t attempt to convince you to the otherwise. Just know that whether you help me or not, Marcus will be defeated. He’s no match for Phantoms.”

“Phantoms?” Malzene repeated in a voice that conveyed derision. “You mean these green clothed fools that accompany you around.”

“No, I mean an army of the dead.” Lady Suzannah said smugly.

“By the gods! How is that possible?”

“I have told you severally D’Aubriere, you are nothing but a babe in sorcery.” Lady Suzannah said as she turned and made for the exit door. “See you at the execution.”

As soon as Lady Suzannah got out of Malzene’s cell, Finn, who had been waiting for her all the while, briskly walked up.

“What did he say?”

Lady Suzannah eyed the huge man with undisguised disgust. It was common knowledge that she grossly disliked him. The only reason she continually put up with him was because Sir Millicent constantly vouched for his unwavering loyalty and usefulness.

“He doesn’t want to help. Not that it matters anyway. We have our Phantom card left to play and . . .”

“What?” He asked when she lapsed into silence midsentence.

“You don’t worry, just tell Sir Millicent that everything is under control.”


* * *

“Kill him! Kill him!”

The bloodthirsty spectators at the mini amphitheater in the rebel stronghold cried with raw pleasure as Frasser placed the forked tip of his trident at the base of his opponent’s neck, ready to deliver the mortal blow that the viewers so much loved to see.

“Please. Don’t kill me,” The defeated man pled with blood gushing out of his mouth as he said each word. “I will give you all the Ciblis I’ve made in my career.”

“Nay, nobody faces me in this damned ring and live to tell the tale. You won’t be the exception.”

That said, Frasser drove the prongs of his huge trident into the flesh of the helpless inmate’s neck in one swift moment, causing blood to splatter on the surface of the ring. Wild cheers erupted from every corner of the amphitheater as the supporters of Frasser reveled in the victory of their man.

Craig watched all this through the bars of the little room opposite the ring with a growing fear for his liege, Prince Galleine. He was in the room alongside the Prince and one grim looking guard. In that moment, the guard produced a bunch of keys from somewhere on his belt and proceeded to open the gate of the room for the Prince to pass into the ring.

“Good luck Sire,” Craig said as the Prince’s figure slowly exited the cell. He got no reply.

The Prince walked slowly to the centre of the ring where Frasser stood waiting. He tried to ignore the incessant boos from the spectators and focus solely on picking out the weak points of his mountainous framed opponent. In a flash, he remembered the words of his tutor in the art of combats, Lord Harleim.

The bigger a man, the less speed he has.

Prince Galleine remembered the swiftness with which Frasser had attacked him during their brief scuffle in his cell and he instantly came to a conclusion that Lord Harleim’s rule holds no water as regards his current opponent.

“Aye! Keep it down. Wait till I beat the life out of him and then do him in front of you all.” Frasser said to the inmates causing them to yell even more.

“Alright, let’s get this started. You two are not new to this. You are to fight until one of you dies or surrenders,” Dunstan instructed, and then he turned to the attendants around. “Serve them weapons.”

Both men were given the weapons of their choice. The prince was handed a broadsword and Frasser, his legendary trident. A low trumpet went off and both men stepped forward to attack each other. The Prince knew he had to be wise. Letting Frasser corner him would be a deadly mistake. He had to hold him off till he was tired then he would go for the kill.

The Prince charged at his ready opponent. He attempted to plunge his weapon in his adversary’s head but Frasser was too good for that. He blocked the sword with his trident then he retaliated by ramming his balding head against the Prince’s face.

The Prince staggered backwards as the brute force with which Frasser had head-butted him overcame his body’s inertia. In that moment, a molar and a trickle of blood escaped his mouth as he struggled to regain his balance.

Frasser charged again, aiming the trident at the Prince’s head. The prince was fast enough to evade that blow as he ducked but he was nowhere near being quick enough to do anything about the elbow that Frasser sent to his solar plexus. A low groan escaped the Prince’s lips as he staggered backwards still, leaving him completely opened to a slap-kick that Frasser landed on his face. This time he totally lost every iota of balance and fell.

The spectators cheered wildly. Frasser responded by doing his signatory killing sign. The Prince quickly scrambled to his feet. He wasn’t going to let the match be a walk in the park for his opponent.

Frasser was on him again. He kicked the Prince’s sword away with so much force that the weapon tore through the netting that covered the ring and then proceeded to pierce the chest of an unwary spectator. The Prince, now at the disadvantage of being weaponless, tried to use the age long trick of kicking the opponent’s balls but Frasser seemed to know what was in the Prince Galleine’s mind as he quickly raised his right knee and then crossed it over his crotch so that the kick failed to hit home.

Just then, a guard came running into the amphitheater, screaming, “Fire! The artillery is burning.”

The response to that shout was instant. The artillery was the home of every weapon of the rebels. The reason why it wasn’t heavily guarded tonight was because of the inmates fight going on. Two squads of guards immediately rushed out to put out the fire.

Dunstan then called to Frasser, “Finish this match already!”

Frasser, buoyed by Dunstan’s words, immediately charged at his weakened adversary. He struck the end of his trident hard against the Prince’s head and then followed up with a terrific looking series of bicycle kicks to Prince Galleine’s chest. The spectators gave a standing ovation to Frasser for the sheer impressiveness of his combative abilities as the Prince collapsed to the floor, too weak even to raise his hands up in surrender.

“Kill him! Kill him!” The spectators chanted, urging the man whom they have for long regarded as the god of the ring on to finish off what he started.

Frasser responded by repeating his killing sign and then sashaying over to where the Prince lay, battered and exhausted beyond words. The big man set the prongs of his trident to the base of the Prince’s neck just like he had done with his previous opponent. He was moments away from slaying the crown Prince in front of a crowd of rebels and prisoners.

“Hold it right there!” The voice ordered.

Every head in the amphitheater turned from the spectacle in the middle of the ring to see two men who had sneaked in through the service door at the rear end of the amphitheater, with two dead guards at their feet.

“We are here for the Prince and we, sure as hell, won’t leave without him.” The long haired youth who had spoken earlier, added.

There was a moment of eerie silence in the mini coliseum after which Dunstan thundered with fury, “The hell! Kill them both!”

Elliott turned to urge his companion on with a wink and a little smile as the squad of rebels closed in on them. “Fifty Ciblis says I’ll kill more than you.”

Marcus only grinned as he unsheathed his sword. “I’ll be damned if I don’t double your kills.”


* * *

Helena smiled to herself as she sat on a rock in the secret spot, reliving how she and Royce had disposed two guards of their weapons with logs and how they had proceeded to set fire on the artillery with burning torches and a few clothing.

Two persons ran into the blindspot, jolting Helena out of her reverie. For a split second, she thought it was Elliott and Marcus but she looked up to see that it was Xesandra and Royce.

“You stopped shooting?”

“Obviously,” Xesandra replied. “I’ve taken down enough men, besides, I’m down on arrows.”

Helena peeped out of the blindspot and saw that only a few guards below them were still mobile, most of them were still with death, even most of the moving ones were injured and nobody was climbing up to attack them yet.

“I hope your lover will do justice to his part.”

“He will. He never fails at anything he does.”

“Out of curiosity, Helena,” Xesandra said. “What attracted you to such a petty man? A pretty damsel of your class will be better suited to a high ranking earl or baron.”

Before Helena could reply, a terrible sounding roar erupted from inside the rebel facility. The three red knights in the secret spot quickly moved to get a better view of proceedings around the facility.

“What do you think is going on in there?”

“I can’t tell,” Royce, the usually silent one, answered.

In a few moments, the gates of the facility flung open and a multitude of people ran out, screaming and pushing one another as they scattered in all directions.

“What the hell is going on?” Xesandra asked a question that none of her companions could possibly answer.

Helena paid no heed to Xesandra and her questions. She kept peering at the crowd, trying to see if there was anyone who matched Marcus’ features.

“I think we should get out of here,” Xesandra opined.

“No way, I’m not leaving without Mar….”

Helena’s speech was punctuated by the sounds made by arrival of some persons in the secret spot. Helena turned to see Marcus with the Prince hoisted over his shoulder. Elliott similarly bore the weight of a redhead lady with sunken cheeks and dirt blackened clothing. Three men lurked behind Marcus and Elliott. Helena recognised them. One was the Prince’s servant, Craig and the two others were knights even though she couldn’t recall their names.

Helena instantly ran to embrace Marcus and plant a long kiss on his bloodied lips. A few blissful moments passed before they broke the kiss. Helena sized up her man again. Even in his pathetic condition, she found him largely alluring. Whoever said Sir Millicent was the finest man in Casville?

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But I’m afraid the Prince is not. Let’s get out of here.”

“What was the whole bedlam about?”

“We killed a great deal of rebel guards and freed the inmates and then Marcus was lucky to kill Frasser in . . .” Elliott narrated.

“Let’s get out of here.” Marcus interrupted his friend. “I’ll feel lot better without the Prince’s weight.”

The red knight and those with them began to move towards the exit of their safe haven.

“Sir Claude, What’s wrong?” Marcus asked when he noticed that the Knight did not appear like he wanted to leave with them.

He shook his head in reply, “I’ll stay to make sure we don’t get tailed.”

Marcus wanted to argue. He wanted to tell Sir Claude that it was sheer folly to stay back. All he could succeed in doing was to get himself killed or injured. The rebels could follow them if they wanted but Marcus knew that before noon tomorrow he and his companions will safely be in the federal territory, where no rebel dared to enter. But Marcus didn’t say all these because he was tired out from his recent exertions, he simply lacked the strength to argue.

“Okay, if you so wish.”

“See you at the citadel.” Sir Claude said as the company began to leave the secret spot.

Marcus nodded in reply, even though deep down, he had the strange feeling that he was seeing the last of Sir Claude.







THE END OF CHAPTER TWENTY

curvydiva:
This story is something else. One of the best stories I've come across here. I wish u success and a greater future, Mr. Vantee20. I'd be waiting for the updates.

I'm humbled by your comment. Thank you very much. Updates coming soon.

oghenekome51:
Hello vantee, u av a new follower! I must confess, ur story is more than wonderful, to d extent it seems as if i am watching a movie!

Pls vantee do us(ur readers) a great pleasure of updating dis story.................... Dont just leave it hanging cos as for me, am loving it like my life depends on it!

Pls reply & respond to our pleas and update dis story!

Wow, your comment has inspired me to write again. I'll be dropping the next update in matter of minutes. Thanks.

STANCO31:
Thank God I'm here at last. My Oga 8-)Van carry go

Welcome bro.

christygenius:
What a wonderful story line u ve here VanTee20, just reminded me of the story of Merlin and Prince Author of Camelot, very farmiliar....
Thanks for taking ur time to pen this piece of work done.




Patiently waiting for another mind blowing updates.[color=#000099][/color]

Thanks Christygenius. More updates are on the way

mhiz:
vantee wats hpnin

I'm sorry ma'am. School is the main reason for the stagnancy of this thread. I promise to do something asap.