Free Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) by Rob Donovan Page A

Every impulse told her to run. Now was her chance.
    Instead,
she took another two tentative steps, her injured leg giving out slightly. The
third pair, the last pair, snapped around to face her as she nearly fell. Again
they made no further move. Fixating on a tree in the distance, she took five
more steps until she was clear of the circle.
    Suddenly,
the Custodians let out a mighty shriek. Appalled, she whirled around. All of
them extended their wings and faced her. Their eyes blazed in contrast to their
pale bodies, the spikes protruding from their bodies. Marybeth feebly tried to
take a step back but lost her balance and fell in the water. She closed her
eyes and braced herself for the attack.
    The
attack did not come. She opened her eyes to see a Custodian launch itself
vertically in the air and disappear amongst the trees. One by one the others
followed. With their shrieks still piercing her ears, Marybeth clutched the
scroll in her hand and fled the Marshes of Night.
     

Chapter 6
    Jacquard
adjusted his crown. It was a simple design, but it was getting heavy these
days. He was not an old man yet, but was far from young, and he was weary. The
lines and scars on his face indicated the years of battle and worry he had
endured. Despite the heat, he wore a long blue robe, the edges tinged with fur.
His white shoulder-length hair blew in the morning breeze.
    He
stood on top of the palace tower and watched a flock of swallows dip and glide
the currents with ease, enjoying the beauty that was nature and a rare moment
of solitude. Behind him, the fury of the waterfall could be heard plummeting
from the lake his palace was built upon.
    Jacquard
closed his eyes as a strong gust of wind swirled around the turret. He enjoyed
the force upon his face coupled with spray from the waterfall. He sensed a
presence behind him and knew immediately who it was. Out of the corner of his
eye he registered him dropping down on one knee and bowing his head.
    “Jefferson,
you have been my senior advisor for the past twenty-five years; when we are
alone, you don’t have to observe the pomp and ceremony of dealing with a king.”
    “Thank
you, my lord,” Jefferson said.
    Jacquard
sighed. He had known Jefferson all his life and never in all that time had the
man failed to observe the correct etiquette around his king. He had been his
father’s advisor when he was a king and Jacquard was only a boy. Even then, he
had seemed old to Jacquard. Nowadays, he needed a stick to walk. His clothes,
still immaculately groomed, hung over his fragile frame. The top of his head
was bald, but wisps of grey hair still grew defiantly on the back and sides.
    He
watched with pity as his old friend struggled to get back to a standing
position. He briefly considered the possibility that he should insist Jefferson
retire from his role. The old man should be living out the rest of his days
peacefully in the gardens. He dismissed the notion. Feeling like he was not
needed anymore would kill Jefferson. Besides, there was no other man that knew
as much about the goings on in Frindoth.
    Jacquard
looked at his friend and realised he was deeply distressed. Jefferson was not
looking him in the eye. He opened his mouth to talk but each time could not
seem to find the words. Uncomfortable at seeing his friend in this state,
Jacquard took a step towards him. Jefferson reacted by taking a step backwards
and raising a hand to act as a barrier.
    “Jefferson,
look at me. Tell me what is wrong.”
    He
watched as Jefferson raised his eyes to look him in the eye. His eyes welled
up. A solitary tear trickled down his cheek.
    “I
found this in the royal quarters, my lord.”
    Jefferson
held out his hand to reveal a white stone. Jacquard recognised it immediately.
His stomach lurched at the sight of it. Such a simple object, yet it posed so
many evil ramifications. With a feeling of dread, he took the stone and
examined it. It was no bigger than a coin and did not have a single