Ferral's Deathmarch Army

By Tod Langley

Prince Kristian's army was annihilated and his attempt to free his betrothed, Allisia, was a complete failure. Through his mistakes, King Kristian now understands what true honor means and what he must do to make amends.

But the sorcerer-king, Ferral, still controls the demon and a vast army of the dead. It would seem that no one is left to challenge the evil man -- a power-hungry religious fanatic whose plans to subvert the Erinian continent are closer to becoming reality.

Will Kristian be able to raise a new army when the only kingdoms with soldiers left have been at war with each other for one thousand years? Can Kristian truly learn from the past and earn back the trust of those he needs to lead? Will Allisia ever escape Ferral?

Only with the help of Mikhal, the cavalier sworn to protect his king despite his anger and haunting dreams of the demon, and Cairn, the mysterious swordsman seeking revenge for the death of his love, can King Kristian hope to survive and get another chance at saving Allisia ... and defeating Ferral.
Follow the continued epic fantasy adventure in Ferral's Deathmarch Army, Book Two of the Erinia Saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tod Langley
• Release date: Aug 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476076294

Tod Langley

Tod is originally from a small town near Fort Wayne, Indiana. He graduated from Purdue University in 1992 with a Bachelors of Arts degree in Political Science. While in college, Tod served as an infantryman in the Army National Guard.After college, Tod received a commission as an infantry officer in the regular Army.Tod and his wife moved seven times over the next fifteen years – his assignments included deployments in support of the war on terror. Tod also served as an infantry company executive officer and patrol leader in Port-au-Prince, Haiti in 1995 during Operation Uphold Democracy.After September 11th, 2001, Tod served on two combat tours in Iraq and has served in Afghanistan numerous times. Throughout his career, he traveled to over fifteen countries; many of the cultures were so alien and magnificent that they left a lasting impression upon him. Tod was awarded two Bronze Stars for his service and left the Army at the end of 2007. He continues to provide advice as a consultant to the Army and divides his time between living on the East coast and back in Indiana.His dream is to spend many more years in his “home office” writing novels that help turn what he has seen and experienced into entertaining and thought-provoking stories for readers of all genres. Prince Kristian's Honor, Book One: the Erinia Saga, is Tod’s first novel. The next book in the series, Ferral's Deathmarch Army, was published in December, 2010.

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Ferral’s Deathmarch Army

Book Two of

The Erinia Saga

Tod Langley

Ferral’s Deathmarch Army

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Tod Langley. All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

Originally published by Wheatmark®

www.TodLangley.com

For Allison, Victoria, and Eric

Acknowledgments

A special thanks to Ernie Laurence, Jr. who has been a strong supporter of my endeavors since the publication of Prince Kristian’s Honor. Thanks for the constant encouragement, feedback, and superb editing. I also want to thank all of my family and friends that supported my writing; your constant enthusiasm and questions about what would happen in the second book motivated me to make it the best book I could possibly write.

"Silent, shuffling, mindless things,

Follow your new master,

Remind our enemies of what war brings,

Show them what awaits all non-believers,

For we bring death, misery, and disaster,"

—Ferral, Sorcerer-King of Belarn prior to the invasion of the western lands

1

Ferral’s Deathmarch Army

But it’s so cold. I don’t want to go any further, Jacob pleaded.

Ferral’s corrupted wind swept down from the Merciless Mountains, over the Utwan Sea, and continued east toward the capital. The snow was so thick that it formed a wall blocking everything from Jacob’s view.

I can’t see anything, Father, the boy called back to his parents again. Jacob continued on a few more steps but then stopped, defeated. I don’t know where to go.

Just keep moving, Jacob, his father urged. We can’t stay here. We’re too close to them. We must hurry.

Jacob pulled the hood of his coat down further, trying to keep out the biting wind; he focused his attention on his feet one more time, looking for the strength to keep moving forward.

It’s no use, Jacob gasped. The boy started sobbing, thinking of his brother and sister. His father had left the children’s bodies under a tree next to the road yesterday. Pauly and Bridgetta were too young to make it through Ferral’s evil storm.

They’ll be at peace now, his father had said without conviction. Jacob knew what might happen to his siblings; everyone in Belarna had heard the stories, even if Jacob had not seen the creatures for himself.

The ground had been too frozen to dig; the storm was so fierce, and the cold so deadly, that Jacob’s father could do little more than scratch at the ice, which covered everything. They had wanted to make shallow graves for the children, hoping that dirt, rocks, and snow might keep anything from disturbing their final resting place: it was as pointless as his father’s attempt to escape Ferral’s cruelty. Jacob had looked back one last time at the snow piles that hid Bridgetta and little Pauly, praying that Ferral’s god, Belatarn, would leave the innocent children be. Jacob prayed that he would not see his siblings again.

Why did we leave? Jacob cried as his father and mother came up next to him. His mother would not answer. She had not said a word to either Jacob or her husband since the deaths of her two younger children. Only Jacob’s father seemed to understand what was happening and still have the strength and will to keep running from the city and its evil sorcerer-king.

Jacob’s father looked around to determine where they should go. The footprints in the snow from the family ahead of them were quickly vanishing beneath a blanket of fresh snowfall. Behind his family, Jacob could just make out the other families also struggling to put some distance between them and the homes they had fled. Few families remained. Some had died from the cold or illness; most had simply given up and turned back toward Belarna.

Ferral had formed the blizzard into a dark, swirling mass of hate. Jacob was old enough to understand the reasons for leaving Ferral’s city, but the way behind them seemed clearer. The boy could see nothing in front of him, but behind him Jacob could see the last member of the last family stop and turn back toward the black citadel.

I can’t go on! Jacob shouted. The boy shivered violently and hugged himself.

His father cursed and then said, Alright, we’ll go back and see if there is shelter in the woods we passed. The man hugged his wife; she said nothing and stared out into the storm.

The storm diminished enough for Jacob and his parents to find their way back, but when Jacob looked over his shoulder he could see the dark mass of clouds looming behind them. It reminded Jacob of the tanner leading cattle to the slaughter house. Jacob often saw the tanner and his apprentice near the docks; the man prodded cattle toward a small enclosure with a row of posts in the ground. Jacob knew that was where the tanner slaughtered the cattle. This storm was just as forceful as the apprentice with the ropes, and Ferral was the cruel master waiting with a long, sharp knife; the storm was pushing the surviving families back toward Ferral, constantly steering those that veered off the road back toward the black-walled city. Jacob only hoped that he would not share the same fate as the many cattle he had seen butchered at the docks.

Several families began to stay close to Jacob and his parents, fearing the darkness of night coming on. They kept silent, grief and despair washing over all of the survivors.

The boy saw the remains of one of those that had not survived. A corpse’s frozen limb jutted out from a snowdrift near the road. One hand reached out toward Jacob’s boot, the blue fingers stretching out toward the trail the families walked along. The boy felt mixed emotions at seeing it; Jacob thought the hand seemed to be reaching out for help, as if it only needed someone to grab hold and pull, and the hand with the body attached to it, would be set free of the cold death that had ensnared it. It also seemed as though the fingers clawed their way toward the road and the living, hungry for the souls just outside its reach. Jacob started praying he had enough time to get far away from the corpse before the sun went down behind the dark storm clouds. Jacob hoped the dead, including his brother and sister, would stay hidden under the snow.

Jacob and his family dug into the side of a snow bank and huddled together for warmth as soon as they reached the woods. It could have been within the same forest where they had left Pauly and Bridgetta, but Jacob could not tell for sure. Jacob did not sleep that night, the cold reaching too deep within his body to allow him to do anything other than shiver and try to stay alive.

It will be alright, Son, Jacob’s father promised. We’ll soon be back in our home. We’ll be warm and safe. He hugged his silent wife and son fiercely. Jacob thought his father was trying to smile, but then he shivered and pulled Jacob and his mother into an even closer embrace. Then we can think of a different way to escape this madness.

The next morning, the storm came upon Jacob and his parents again. Jacob cried in warning as the wall of wind and darkness swept toward him like a giant wave.

It’s chasing us, Jacob shouted.

We’re close to the city now, his father shouted back, encouraging his son. We will be there well before dark. Jacob nodded and started walking along what he thought was the road back toward Belarna. Many other surviving families came crawling out from hastily dug shelters and started shuffling through the snow.

All day the storm harassed the families. The light, faded and gray, permitted no shadows; the malice of Ferral’s magic absorbed everything, forcing Jacob, his parents, and the rest of the families back toward the sorcerer-king.

Finally, Jacob could make out the silhouette of the walled city ahead, a dreadful and oppressive fortress. The boy knew his father did not want to go back in there, but at least Jacob and his parents would finally be warm. At least Jacob would live.

His father pointed off toward the fishing piers. We’ll go back through the smaller gate where we came out, Jacob’s father said with confidence. The guard will let us back in, and hopefully, we won’t be noticed as much as those that are trying to get in through the main gate.

Jacob nodded.

When they got there, Jacob found the gate and portcullis secured, and no guard appeared above them on the wall to help his family back into the city. No one heard his father’s shouts for help, and Jacob could find no way in. Jacob’s father looked worried and glanced around.

We’ll have to try the main gate, then, Jacob’s father concluded.

As the three of them made their way around the city, the storm hit them full force again. The wind forced Jacob up against the fortress wall. Had the wall not been there, the wind would have blown the boy into the sea. It took Jacob and his parents twice as long to get around the city as it should have, but Jacob knew they were close when the boy heard the pleading and shouting voices of the other families.

Please, have mercy. Forgive us, some shouted.

Let us in! others demanded.

More than a hundred people gathered around the ruined gate. Jacob could see holes in the crude barrier erected by Ferral’s guards after the great battle, but the gaps were too small for the families to crawl through. Many people started reaching their hands through the holes, begging for someone to let them in.

Jacob’s father grew more frantic, his worried face still visible in the growing darkness.

Oh God, what have I done? his father asked. We shouldn’t have come back!

Jacob saw his father’s face; there was a look of regret, mingled with fear and dread, in his eyes as he scrambled forward to join the others at the gate shouting for help. Jacob became more frightened. The boy looked from his mother to his father wondering what he should do.

Jacob guided his mother toward the crowd, climbing over the mounds of snow that dotted the recent battleground. He could sense the panic in the shouts of the people at the gate. Jacob and his parents were almost out of time.

A man started pulling on the boards of the barrier trying to make a hole large enough to fit through. The frantic man reached in through a gap and pried at the wood with his fingers. Others saw what he was trying to do and joined in. The barrier began to creak as more and more people started tearing at the obstacle.

The man suddenly screamed in shock and pain. His eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open, his stuttering cry echoed louder and louder against the black walls of the fortress. A woman next to him screamed as he fell away from the barrier. His arms were bloody stumps, warm blood flowing from his wounds onto the snow and those close to him. Another man screamed as a spear darted out from a different gap in the barrier. The metal tip pierced his chest and heart: the man fell lifeless to the ground.

Jacob and his family cried in shock, backing hastily away from the wall. Others started cursing or begging for admittance.

We have to leave, someone shouted.

What do we do? Jacob asked his father, frightened. The man with the amputated arms still rolled around on the ground shrieking horribly. His blood pooled beneath his body, but quickly froze and mixed in with the snow. His screams became moans and his thrashing ceased. Then, the man started weeping.

Jacob wanted to escape the madness, to run out into the storm.

A woman screamed in terror. Jacob looked over at her and saw a cold, blue hand grasping her ankle. It jutted out from a snow bank next to the road.

Jacob looked around, puzzled for a moment, before he realized what was happening. He stared at the other clusters of mounds all around them. There were hundreds of them, thousands.

Run, Mother, run! he shouted. Jacob pulled hard on his mother’s hand, but she refused to move. She sobbed, shaking with grief and terror, but his mother would not leave. Jacob dropped her hand and looked around for a way to escape.

The snow mounds shifted. Shapes started to emerge and stand. Ferral’s dead creatures were waking. The rest of the mob started to realize it now and tried to escape. Some made it beyond the reach of the hands but not many. Soon, more than a thousand of the creatures surrounded the panic-stricken families.

Some of the living tried again to tear down the barrier. Spears poked through the gaps and slew them. Jacob heard a familiar voice shout and turned to see several dead creatures pulling at his father’s arms and legs. Jacob backed away, horrified and unable to do anything. Then his mother screamed. Jacob did not want to see her death, but he could hear her moaning as the creatures tore at his mother’s body.

He gasped and ran for the gate, forgetting about the spears. Jacob was small enough that he might make it through.

They’ve got to let me in. I’m just a boy, Jacob thought, but he could not get close to the gate. Everyone was panicking and trying to get through, despite the spears.

Jacob climbed over the wounded and dying. The boy clambered over those that banged against the barrier. The man that had lost his arms stumbled toward Jacob, his eyes now faded and dull. His mouth hung open, slack, but with the same expression of shock and pain it held just before death. Jacob tried even harder to reach safety.

Jacob’s small hands found nooks in the barrier, and he climbed higher. A spear thrust out from a gap beside Jacob’s face, piercing his cheek, but he did not fall. Jacob knew what would happen if he fell. The boy could hear the screams and shouts diminishing in number. Few people still lived.

A few feet higher, and Jacob would be out of their reach. He looked for something, anything, to grab a hold of.

Jacob’s right foot slipped, but he held on. The boy reached for the next piece of wood.

Then a sharp, icy pain ran up his leg as one of the creatures grabbed Jacob’s ankle.

Jacob screamed and grasped the wood as hard as he could. The boy screamed again, looking down. A smaller creature, a dead girl with brown hair dug its ruined fingers into his leg. Was it Bridgetta?

No!

Jacob fell heavily on his back, flailing his arms about and kicking the dead creatures nearest him. It did no good. Jacob screamed one final time.

The dead searched for more living but found none. They ambled about with no clear purpose. The only clear life force hid behind the barrier, but their master had ordered the dead not to attack the gate any more. The dead stumbled around waiting for Ferral to tell them what to do.

Then the creature that had been Jacob stood. Blood covered its face and chest. It looked around for a moment, searching for survivors, and then joined Ferral’s Deathmarch Army.

2

Trapped

The demon watched the macabre scene from atop the black walls and felt only a fragment of remorse. She could hear the boy’s screams, as he fought for his life, but the demon knew it would not be enough: she chose not to help. The demon brushed loose strands of golden hair from her face, letting the biting winds hit her exposed cheeks. She hoped it might cool the anger that boiled beneath her skin.

The demon looked down again at Ferral’s mindless creatures that still tore apart the wounded that had not yet transformed. The dead knew even less of mercy than the demon did; the dead obeyed Ferral with no ability to show concern or hesitation for the innocent.

The dead were as easy to control as any living fanatics; the creatures were manipulated by the dominating will of just one man and obeyed orders regardless of right and wrong—of good and evil. The demon realized, however, that there was one main difference between Ferral’s followers and other zealots in history: the sorcerer’s creatures were too difficult to destroy. Dismembering a single creature took too long, and by the time anyone finished destroying one dead soldier, ten others had taken its place. Unless Ferral was stopped, his followers and his new Deathmarch Army would subjugate the entire continent. Ferral could then focus his powers upon the kingdoms of the Old World. The sorcerer-king would do what no other man had been capable of. Ferral would destroy the world.

The sorcerer had used the demon to create winter storms and control the dead before, but Ferral was becoming more adept at using his new found powers. The deadly scene below the demon, one that had taken place nightly for the past week, was all Ferral’s doing. The sorcerer could use his dark magic to control the dead far beyond his line of sight. His unique brand of fanaticism would spread quickly across Erinia.

Ferral needs me less every day. It is becoming harder to bend the sorcerer to my own will.

And now Ferral has his own way of controlling the dead, the demon reminded herself. General Derout was now an automaton through which Ferral could extend his control to regions far beyond the borders of Belarn.

The question is … is the sorcerer doing this to send me a message? the demon wondered. Does he think he no longer needs me?

I could help the boy, the demon said, looking down upon the child’s final struggle. Ferral would not be pleased.

Whenever Ferral’s people tried to flee the sorcerer-king became furious and took control of the winds to push people back toward his citadel, back toward the Deathmarch Army. Ferral knew the people would be murdered, but that did not concern him. In life or death, they would serve Ferral and his causes, both religious and personal.

Ferral may believe in Belatarn, but he is increasingly addicted to his new powers. Powers that are making the sorcerer stronger …

The demon decided to wait a little longer before challenging Ferral openly.

No! the demon heard the small boy scream again from below her vantage point before the dead swarmed around him, obscuring the boy from her sight. His blood pooled around the feet of the dead creatures, mixing with the blood of those that had already transformed. Ferral had just added another one hundred servants to his Deathmarch Army.

The dark silence surrounded Allisia once again, its oppressive nature strangling the captive princess. The sorcerer-king and his demon had left her, alone and frightened, wondering how long it might be before the next time Ferral came to torment her.

Allisia sat on the edge of her bed trying to understand what had made Ferral’s mood toward her change so drastically. He had walked in smiling, pushing the dusty doors open, letting in much welcomed light, warmth, and fresh air. Despite the extravagant trappings, Ferral liked to ensure Allisia was reminded of her captivity. This time he was in an unusually good mood. He acted rather pleasant in a way that made Allisia sick to her stomach.

Allisia saw the hunger to molest her in his eyes and looked away.

Ferral’s moods changed with the wind. One moment, the sorcerer-king would act as civilized as any ordinary person, but in the next moment, Ferral threatened kingdoms and murdered innocent people. Now, Ferral wanted her as he wanted any other thing not in his possession. The mad man wanted to take Allisia and be the only man to have her. It actually surprised Allisia that Ferral had not tried to take her earlier. Allisia would never allow Ferral to touch her in that way, of course, and she was ready for him to make his move.

It will only be a matter of time, Allisia convinced herself.

Allisia had the knife now but was reluctant to use it. What good would it do to strike him with it? Allisia had seen what Ferral had done to General Derout and the servant girl and thought it better to keep the knife hidden under the blankets. Allisia could reach it quick enough if she needed to defend herself. Or if Ferral threatened Allisia’s purity she could take her own life.

Perhaps, that would be better anyway, Allisia thought, dismally.

No, he would just bring me back … like the servant girl. There are things worse than death, Allisia murmured.

Perhaps, Allisia thought, he wants me to give in so that his twisted pleasure will be even greater. And knowing I surrendered to him would make him feel as though he had completely conquered Duellr.

I’ll kill Ferral before I let that happen … no matter what might happen to me, Allisia declared.

Ferral had entered her chamber and poured a glass of wine for himself. He seemed at ease and confident, but Allisia knew Ferral’s cruelty could emerge without warning. She patted the long knife under the blanket next to her as the sorcerer spoke casually of his successes to the east.

Erand is in ruins, its people flee through the snow from my army. Burned, impaled, frozen … they have nowhere to go, Ferral said. The sorcerer then teased Allisia about his plans to ensure the western kingdoms could not interfere until he was ready to crush them.

Why are you doing this? Allisia had asked many times before. She used it as a stalling tactic: Ferral liked to talk about himself.

I’m not that difficult to figure out, Allisia, Ferral said. I’m a man that ardently believes my god calls upon all people to worship him and only him. Those that follow another god shall be shown the error of their ways by the actions of my holy army.

There’s only one God, Ferral, Allisia risked telling him, fearful of an immediate retaliation.

The sorcerer-king smiled at this and paused before saying, Maybe you should start worshiping my god, then. Your God doesn’t seem very helpful. Ferral shook his head sadly, treating Allisia as a child too young to comprehend his vision.

This continent has been influenced by Erand and Duellr for hundreds of years. You could prosper and enjoy life, but, Ferral suddenly shouted, raising a finger righteously, only if you followed their customs, their laws, their God. If you wanted to live your life your way, take pride in your own culture and beliefs, you were shunned, neglected.

Ferral stood then and started to pace. Allisia grew more wary; he typically lost control at times like this.

Belarnians are a proud people, people banded together loosely by the need for trade and the desire to worship in a different way. The Erandians tell us that our way is wrong, that our way is evil, Ferral reminded her.

Who are they to judge us? Who are they to tell us that our culture and religion are less than theirs? Ferral asked.

She dared not answer him.

The holiest of my people soon realized that we could not, that we did not, worship the same god. Our god was benevolent to those that were loyal. Belatarn gave us what we needed to survive when Erand and her allies cut us off from the rest of the world. Our god would help us climb out of the desolation that Erand was forcing upon us. Belatarn would help us defeat them and show the whole world that our god was the god.

Allisia could only shake her head, confused. How can you think that God wants death? How can you accept that your violent ways are justifiable as a holy quest?

Don’t you think that your father and his naval forces have killed people before? Isn’t your betrothed, the pitiful excuse for a leader that he is, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people? Ferral glared at her.

They were protecting their people from harm, Allisia said, pretending to reason with the mad man, feeding his ego in the hopes of staying his hand.

Ferral sneered at Allisia and said, In that case, I’m only protecting what rightfully belongs to my god.

Allisia did not understand what Ferral meant. The princess continued their debate, offering honest challenges to Ferral’s points, because that was what the mad man expected, and because that kept him calm. Allisia and Ferral continued like that for half an hour.

A guard entered and handed Ferral a sheaf of parchment. The sorcerer-king paled as he read. Ferral crumbled the parchment in his fists, screaming in fury.

Make sure the survivor dies slowly, Ferral shouted at the messenger.

Sire, the scout is the one who informed us of the fugitive’s location and warned us of the Spirit Folk, the guard stammered.

If the scout had done his job, I wouldn’t care about where the Erandian was hiding. Kristian’s head would be stacked along the wall of my throne room! The menacing look Ferral gave the guard was enough to ensure his command would be carried out. And bring the demon to my chambers. I’m done with incompetent fools. If the Black Guards can’t do Belatarn’s Will, then I must find another way.

But, the guard mumbled, they were spirits, magical beings, whose powers were too great for the patrol.

Fool, Ferral shouted. The sorcerer-king raised his hand, pointing at the man. The guard backed away, eyes widening. They are humans hiding among trees like fairies. People so afraid of the sun they sit under a roof of leaves. They have no magic. They lost their powers centuries ago. Only I command the arts now. The guard quickly nodded his head in obeisance. Ferral reached out with his power, grabbing hold of the man’s collar with an invisible hand, and dragged him closer. Ferral’s face was close enough that the guard could feel the heat of his king’s fetid breath on his cheek.

I don’t want the Erandian survivors killed. I want them obliterated. I want no sign of their bodies to ever be found. Now get out! The guard ran for his life. Ferral picked up the crumbled message as the doors clanged shut and threw it into the fireplace.

Ferral noticed the princess fidgeting out of the corner of his eye.

Ferral sensed Allisia’s heart racing, his new powers made him sensitive to others … he could feel their fear. Ferral scowled at Allisia and felt her worry increase. Allisia breathed heavily trying to keep her emotions in check, but it was too late. Ferral looked her up and down, licking his lips.

My god has given you to me, Allisia. It’s a sign of his faith in me, that I will purge the world of the non-believers. Ferral started toward Allisia slowly.

Belatarn is merciful and benevolent to those that follow his edicts. You will be the first of many beautiful wives, Allisia … wives that Belatarn will give me for establishing new temples and schools devoted to his commandments, Ferral said.

He reached out a hand toward Allisia’s cheek, but the princess turned away in disgust. Ferral’s smile turned to hatred. Allisia did not know what Ferral would do next.

Just as Ferral was about to make a move toward Allisia, the demon entered the room. I heard you were looking for me, the demon said with a slight grin.

Ferral stopped, his fingertips only inches away from Allisia’s face; his hunger for the princess changing into frustration, then anger. Ferral hit her with the back of his hand, not as hard as usual, but the sting would remind Allisia of his control over her.

Why is it so hard to kill those two fools? Ferral demanded of the demon. I am the most powerful sorcerer in the world. Yet, I can’t kill the one man I want killed.

The demon shrugged. Our master is not the only power in the universe, Ferral, the demon replied. Ferral laughed and then glanced over at Allisia, who nursed her swollen lip. The princess still feared the demon and tried to get as far away from the monster as possible.

Ferral knew what Allisia did not, that he was now more powerful than the demon that he had raised. It would only be a matter of time before the demon was no longer needed. And then the demon might become too difficult to control. Ferral would show Allisia who she should fear more—who she should show respect to. Ferral would destroy the demon by